All shall be well in Asgard
by IkolLaufeydottir
Summary: What if Odin Allfather had allowed Laufey to keep his son? On the condition that once Thor came of age, they would be married, and their kingdoms united? A Roleplay between a friend and I. I do not own the avengers, nor am I profiting from writing this... I just love Thor, Loki, and thorki! Rated M/MA. Possible smut/adventure/action/crossdressing/mpreg in the future! Please review!
1. Chapter 1: The Rise of the Moon

Eyes closed, he took a deep breath.

There was silence for the first time in many moons on this night, no wind blew in this icy world, no snow fell. The kingdom carved from ice glittered and shone in the pale waning moon.

The youngest of five, and the smallest of all of the giants, he had been the ideal child for the partnership. He never had been big, in fact, he was the but size of a midgardian, perhaps just a step taller than any Midgard children who would have been close to his age. Fourteen winters had passed since Loki Laufson's birth, and it had all been grooming, for this exact purpose.

He stood calmly in the freezing air, his rose-red eyes slowly opening, watching, waiting curiously for the Bifrost to open, to reveal his new caregiver, and soon to be husband.

He sneered at the idea, his blue skin wrinkling around his nose, the darker lines and ruins etched in his skin crinkling. He hated the idea of being bound to some big headed Prince, son of the Allfather, no less.

His father gave him a sharp look, as if sensing his son's irritation. It took no more than the giant's eyes narrowing for the child to bow his head meekly. For a child he still was, despite the hints of man hood inching around Loki's features. Gone was the softness of child hood, and here were the slightly sharp lines from his fight training. Loki wasn't much of a physical fighter, though he was quick with a staff and throwing knife, he found his wit quicker, and sharper than any weapon.

His nursemaid, and elder frost bent to adjust Loki's green cape, the white fur trim, and heavy, handsome robes beneath assuring he would not be cold after the blue was chased from his skin by Odin and his son. After all, a frost giant could hardly survive in the halls of Valhalla, no better than a midgardian could survive in the kingdom of Frost giants.

Now all there was to do was wait.

Thor didn't know why Mother had insisted on him wearing his finest clothes to meet his soon-to-be-consort and hated the way the silk from Alfheimr clung to his skin, keeping him from moving freely as his armor would. They Father was with him, as magnificent as ever, a victor, not bearing any weapons even though they were going to what was up util recently the home of their mortal enemies. Thor didn't know why they did that, why they had chosen for him this degrading union instead of making the Jötunns pay the price for their arrogance as they had paid for the years that had followed the end of the war. He grits his teeth, walks with a dignified air into the Bifröst that will bring them to Jötunheimr. Heimdall looks at him with unflinching eyes that indicate neither and approval of his father's choice or a sympathy for the prince's predicament. Thor raises his chin high, trying to look dignified.

The ground and the sky disappear in a twirl of light and they're in Jötunnheimr. The night is calm. In front of them is the head of state of the land of snow and ice.

There was something frightening in the anatomy of the Jötunns, how their disproportioned limbs were covered by markings Thor couldn't make out, something about dark, cowardly magic that Asgardians had long ago chose to forbid. They were the children of the monsters from the songs of the heroes of the ages past, thirsty for blood and relishing in chaos. Thor had only seen Jötunns once before, at the court, an ambassador from Jötunheimr, and the sight of his blue skin marked by cuts of magic and enchantments had been enough to make him run back to Mother, sobbing as his four-year-old-self only could. He remembered to only know of them as the monsters his father had slain, so many years ago.

The war against Jötunheimr had raged for so many years, and the peace that Father had brought to the Nine Realms had been bought with the blood of Jötunns and Asgardians alike. Thor could hardly believe that, after centuries of shared hatred, the conflict that had opposed Asgard to Jötunheimr could be solved with something as petty as what would be his loveless union to the youngest son of the Jötunn King.

How can you go so low, Father ? Don't you have any pride left from the glorious days when you vanquished Laufey in his own realm ?

Laufey looked old, his heart cold as ice and, somehow, he failed to live up to the myth that surrounded his person, the horrible, treacherous lord of the ice lands, using the power of the Casket of Ancient Winters instead of fighting like a true warrior. He looked old, weary, his heart a frozen as the land on which he reigned. The Jötunn King was surrounded by his numerous family and the highest ranking officers of his army, recognizable by their impressive helmets made out of animal horns and skin and elaborate metal engravings. Thor eyed the court that had followed him here, at the border of his ice kingdom, wondering which one of the strange blue beings he had been promised to. He didn't have the time to give it a proper reflexion, though, as Father presented salutations to the Jötunns.

"Laufey, King of the Jötunns and Lord of the Snowlands, fourteen summers and twenty winters have gone by since our two kingdoms have achieved peace. Now is the time for our houses to join as to celebrate this durable peace and ensure its future. I present you my first born, Thor, who has proved himself a brave warrior and a worthy leader for the Asgardians. With who shall he exchange vows for our kingdoms to be united, not by war but by marriage ?"

Waiting for the Allfather and his son would be forever remembered as the most difficult stretch of time in all of Loki's young life. He could hear his only sister behind him, sniffing, bravely trying to hold back tears, his three brothers murmured amungst themselves and once in a while would reach out a large hand to cover his shoulder and squeeze as gently as he could. It had been a joke around the palace when Loki had been a tiny toddling child, that the boy could only be part Jotun. Look at his size! They had whispered. His hands are tiny, his feet no bigger, how could he truely be a prince of us?

His hands were still slim, delicate, hidden in brown furred gloves. They soon grew restless, bringing his long, braided black hair over his shoulder to toy with, but his hands were soon batted away by his nursemaid. "A young prince does not fidget, my dear." Shiek whispered, bending her knees so she could be closer to his level. He looked at his feet, solumnly, until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up, finding the old woman holding a staff in her hand. It was golden, obviously meant for channeling magic by the sight of the emerald green scurrying orb. "Your mother had this made when you were born. 'He will be a great sorceror.' She had predicted." The old woman spoke slowly, her lower lip quivering slightly as she brought the young boy close for a hug.

"Her predictions are never wrong." She assured, allowing the boy to take the staff in his gloved hands. "She wanted you to have it for your sixteenth winter.. but..."

She didn't get to say any more as the Bifrost was opened. Loki squared his thin shoulders, standing as tall as he could manage - Even the two were taller than him! - stepping away from the only mother he had ever really knew. "I'll write you," He promised to the woman, and his sibblings as Odin began to speak.

"Odin Allfather, I have brought the youngest of my sons to you, he has proved to be the wisest of his peers, even with the peers of his siblings, and is a prodigy in the sorcery arts of our kind." the old giant stepped away, reveling his tiny son, who held himself proudly and strode forward until he was standing beside his father, under inspection of the king of Asgard and his son.

Dropping to one knee, a hand clasped over his heart, Loki bowed, addressing the Allfather. "I, Loki Laufson, would be honored to wed your son, king Odin, and unite our kingdoms." Loki said, his soft voice piercing the still night air.

He stood slowly and turned towards his father, knowing but fearing what came next. A single one of his father's giant fingers was placed against his forehead, and in response, the blue of his skin began to melt away, leaving delicate, snow-pale skin behind. Gone were his ruins and signs of magic, replaced by one toned, smooth skin, and gone were his red eyes, leaving shocking emerald green where red once lain.

"Though you no longer have our skin, my son, you are still of the Jotun. Forget this not." The king whispered before turning Loki for Odin and Thor.

Cold. He felt the cold for the first time, biting at his cheeks and nose, turning them a delicate shade of pink. He shivered lightly, his breath coming out in curious puffs of smoke before disappearing all together.

Thor looked at the boy with a mix of curiosity and distrust. He knew that the magic of the Laufey was a powerful one, nearly as powerful a magic user as the All-Father, but the transformation had unsettled him. Were all Jotuns able to change into Asgardians ? Did they do it to spy on their realm ? He searched for Father's gaze, only receiving back this cold, dignified impression from his unflinching expression. Thor tried not to look nervous, keeping his chin high and his arm crossed against his chest.

The young prince, under this form, was small, a dwarf among the Jotuns and just as small compared to an Asgardian, thin in an almost womanly fashion, unlike a real warrior and unlike someone worthy of sitting, one day alongside him, at the throne of Asgard. A sorcerer, the youngest of Laufey's sons, was to be betrothed to him. He kept himself from wincing at the thought of having to marry one of the monsters, one of the enemies, to follow Father's orders and step on the pride of his ancestors who had bravely battled the giants of Jotunheim. Instead, he presented his hand to the boy, as he wished only to get back to Asgard and hit target practice with his hammer until they broke.

They had covered him in layers of rich fabrics and he was holding a long, gilded spear. Jotuns weren't known for their prowesses in the field of smithing, but this one was a lance made for a prince and looked accordingly, decorated with old, undecipherable runes on its tip and handle. Thor couldn't help but to wonder how such a scrawny boy could fight with such a large weapon, but he kept himself from making any derisory remarks. This union was unavoidable, he knew it, but he needed time to come to terms with the idea that Father had chosen a Jotun, of all the races of the Nine Realms, to be his consort.

Father spoke with that same deep, unflinching, official voice, placing his hand on the Jotun prince's shoulder. There was however a hint of satisfaction in it, as he seemed pleased that the meeting had gone so well.

"We will take care of your son, Laufey, teach him the ways of our lands, and our houses shall unite when Thor will come of age, a little less than a few moons from now. I now bid you farewell, and wish that this wedding will bring peace to the Nine Realms."

And, on these words, they were gone, cutting through bright coloured light, heading by to Asgard under the calm, unflinching stare of the Heimdall. As they passed stars and looked at worlds starting and ending in the blink of a eye, Thor felt the Jotun's hand in his own, cold and delicate under his fingertips. It felt odd, to be so close to an enemy, and Thor wondered if the boy felt the same thing as he did and how they would manage to tolerate each other if they ever came to power together.

He didn't have to think it more thoroughly. The light disappeared. Asgard stood in front of them, proudly pointing at the starry sky, and Thor smiled at the sight. It was good to be home.

The minute he saw the Asgardian prince reach for his hand, Loki couldn't help the way he glanced back at his kind before removing his glove and setting his small hand in Thor's. He wanted nothing more than to run back into the arms of his father and Shiek, to go back and train with his big brothers and learn to dance with his sister. He didn't want this.

He held his casting staff tightly, despite the fact it towered over him. He knew he was tiny, and the way the prince was appraising him wasn't helping. He could see the distrust, the hate for his kind. Loki held the boy's gaze, doing his best to school his features into the calmest look he could manage to give the tall warrior.

He shrunk a little when the AllFather dropped his hand heavily on his shoulder, frightening him a little with how much force the man had behind such a simple touch. How would he be able to keep up with such strength? He wondered. Loki was good with fight with a wooden staff, and decent at archery, but he would never have the amount of strength!

He glanced back at Odin's words, back to his family. His sister gave an encouraging wave, though the tears in her ruby eyes did nothing but distress him. "Farewell, Odin, farewell, my son."

No, no, no! Suddenly, Loki wanted nothing more than to disappear. The sorrowful tone, the tired, given up sound, was the drop that over filled the cup. But before Loki could do more than look up and meet his father's eyes, they were whisked away.

Suddenly, Loki was staring into the eyes of Heimdall, universes and stars passing in a few mere blinks of his now green eyes. He had never really been into the Bifrost, and the new sensation and sights had Loki forgetting his predicament for a moment, his lips twitching into just the slightest smile.

Then suddenly, they were in Asgard. His eyes widen a little as he took in the golden spires and... That must have been grass! The rolling green hills had him staring, and when he noticed the Allfather and Thor staring at him he blushed. "I... I've never seen grass before. Only in my books." Loki admitted, clearing his throat and straightening, trying to maintain some of his dignity.

Thor looked at the boy with amusement and something else entirely, something he wasn't sure he wanted to fully acknowledge. It was... It was somehow endearing, how utterly inoffensive the Jotun prince looked, how genuinely surprised he was to be here. Thor shook his head, tried not to laugh. The sting of humiliation was still there and there was no amount of time that would make him believe that Father's decision was the right one.

"Then you must visit the queen's library, as she holds books dear in her heart and those might help you adjust to the new life you will lead here alongside my son." Father said, his voice warm but still keeping that dignified tone that seemed never to leave him.

Thor tried not to make a face, as library had always, for him, rhymed with long, uneventful afternoons of forced study with the tutors Mother appointed for him. He had never been one for books, preferring the hammer to the subtleties of language. However, he had found himself fascinated by the songs of his ancestors and the glorious battles they led.

Heimdall, with his usual unflinching expression, welcomed the return of the sovereign of Asgard with a reserved bow. He had never been one for flattery, but the guardian of the Bifrost always showed an infinite respect for ceremonials. He stayed true to his post, watching them without a word as they left his sight.

They were then led by Father to the horses that would bring them to Asgard across the rainbow bridge. His own horse was Lightning, a golden Asgardian purebred that had been given to him after he had turned thirteen and the best racer Thor had ever seen. It had proved itself a valiant companion and a trustful ally, either in the field of battle or the long journeys Father made him accomplish to foreign lands as his training as a future Asgardian king.

In one swift movement, he presented the reigns of Snow, the mixed-race white stallion, to the Jotun prince.

"Do you know how to ride ?" he asked, his contempt barely hiding under his otherwise neutral voice. "I heard that horses can't live in Jotunheim, and that your people believe that it is unlike a warrior to have a companion to go to battle."

The was a certain gleam in Loki's eyes at the mention of a library, one of excitement and wonder. The private library of Queen Frigga. Oh, what he could learn, what wonders could he read of? There was so much to learn in the nine realms! Policies, language, the different people, animals and plant life that were there! For Loki, learning and reading wasn't at all dull, it was an escape, a luxury he used to sneak away for. He would books beneath his bed and read by moonlight, until the sun began to peak out again.

"I would love to have the opportunity to explore the library, if Queen Frigga would allow me. Thank you, my liege." Loki's gentle tenor voice wafted on the gentle warm breeze that blew, easing a few long strands of hair from his braid.

As they made their way to the rainbow bridge, Loki finally eased his hand from Thor's, having forgotten that the teen had even taken it, and he took the moment to examine the father and his son. The Allfather was nothing short of awe inspiring, simply the way he carried himself brought about a sense of confidence and an air of strength. Thor wasn't far behind his father. Though the teen couldn't be more than two winters older than him, he was tall, broad shoulders and chest, obviously built for fighting.

The young Jotun was startled from his thoughts when they came to the amazing rainbow bridge, in fact, Loki ignored the horses to examine the bridge and the town with wide eyes.

When the reins were pressed into his hands, he met Thor's contempt and gaze with a cool, calm look, moving to gently introduce himself to the stallion by allowing him to sniff and nuzzle his hand.

"Our ambassador to Asgard explained to me how to ride. Consider this, Prince Thor, have you ever seen a horse big enough or strong enough to carry a normal Jotun? I am an abnormality in my land, there are non as small as me, there fore, non that could ride a horse comfortably," Loki was careful to keep his words gentle, to keep from insulting his consort and the King.

After a moment of assuring himself the horse was gentle and would take good care of him, Loki murmured gentling words to Snow as he mounted him, settling into the saddle and holding the reins firmly, to keep the horse calm. He patted the animal's flank, almost affectionately, before urging the animal to follow Odin and Thor.

The Jotun had wit and spoke Asgardian without a hint of an accent, and it unsettled Thor, as he had thought he was to be betrothed to some kind of illiterate monster. He was like the water of the sea, and there was something dangerous under the calm surface of his piercing green eyes.

The ride back to Asgard was an uneventful one, as they crossed the bridge that seemed to go on and on forever. The silhouette of Asgard's large buildings grew larger and larger over the horizon, and Thor, wind blowing over his face, closed his eyes and breathed through the night air. It was nice, to be back from the land of endless ice and snow, to bask in the light of the city of the Asgardians.

They passed the gates without much of a fuss, as it was still early in the morning and the sun hadn't risen yet over the river that bordered the city. The horses slowed down nearly by automatism, their footsteps clicking in a slow rhythm on the paved, empty streets of the higher levels of the metropolis. They arrived to the palace through the smaller, eastern entrance, welcomed only by the night guards, who opened the large, undecorated doors and looked at this new Jotun prince with a mix of contempt and horror. Father's decision to marry him to a Jotun, Thor knew, hadn't been a popular one. The Allfather had been however deaf to the protests of the main noble houses of the realm and had decided to follow through his marital plans. The palaces guards were known for their conservatism, and nothing but sheer respect and loyalty for the king kept them from contesting his decision and chase the intruder.

They got rid of the horses and enterred the main building without exchanging a word. Thor had demanded for his apartments to be separated from the Jotun's own, at least until the wedding, and Father had denied him it. There was no opposition possible to the will of the Allfather and Thor had begrudgingly followed orders. It didn't please him, but he had grown more and more aware, as the days passed, that his future role as a king of Asgard wasn't meant to be a pleasing one.

"Thor will show you to your quarters, Loki Laufeyson, while I shall go back to my queen. Tomorow, you are to be presented to the court of Asgard. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask my son, as he is indeed to be your king and husband in the near future."

And, upon those words, Father walked away, leaving Thor alone with the Jotun who soon be his consort at the head of the most powerful of the Nine Realms. At first, he didn't move, feeling like he had been frozen onto the ground, but soon enough he could move once again, turning slowly toward his betrothed.

"Let's go."

Valhalla was a large, impressive building, with halls and rooms that seemed to go on forever and rich, traditional Asgardian architecture that mixed the curved, delicate lines of floral patterns and the strong, severe straight lines of perfect geometry. They passed through richly decorated archways, climbed up the staircase for the west wing of the palace in silence. The rich decoration of the halls felt somehow oppressive and heavy, making their silhouettes seemingly minuscule as their made their way to the top of the western tower, where his room rested. Soon enough, they were there, standing in front of the golden door, and Thor stopped, not sure if he wanted to push the door open or scream out of rage.

"Listen, Jotun," he said as he extended his hand slowly, pushing the door open. "Neither of us wanted this and there is nothing that could hurt my honor even more than this union Father seems so decided to make happen. Our kinds aren't made to be together, the same way ice and fire will never be able to coexist without destroying each other. Father might believe in chimeras but I do not."

He sighed, took a step forward.

"I just wanted this to make this clear right away."

Loki had, surprisingly, enjoyed the swift horse, though he had needed to adjust his seating so as to avoid any injury to his legs, he had locked his knees in his nervousness. Foolish of him, of course, but had never seen a live horse, let alone ridden one as it thundered down the bridge into Asgard. He stroked the animal's neck as they slowed, craning his neck every which way, his eyes couldn't possibly widen more! Flicking over every new sight, cataloging, absorbing anything that could be useful, anything his new eyes found interesting.

When they arrived at the palace of the great Valhalla, Loki gave the great beast one last affectionate pat before stumbling out of the saddle, giving a glare to the leather strap that had tried to keep his foot wrapped in its clutches. He straightened his neat Asgardian-style tunic and trousers before removing the thick cloak that had covered him before. The tunic was silk, bottle green with silver edging, fitting his body well and accenting what little muscle he had on his body.

He was quite aware of the looks the guards and everyone they pass are giving him, it takes every ounce of his will to keep his head high. It was not his blasted idea! He was just as much of a victim to this as their beloved prince. Despite this mental reasoning he couldn't help the way he ducked his head just the slightest at every look, his hands holding tightly to the green cloak and the over-large staff. He could do this. For my father, for my sister, for my people... The slow mantra came easily to mind, repeating all the reasons he was doing this. All the reasons he was going to - literally within a few moons - lie with the enemy.

He bade the Allfather a soft farewell, daring not to say more in the presence of his consort. The young frost giant could see the tension and frustration practically rolling off the prince in thick, choking waves. Finally, the older prince turned and said not but two words to him.

He followed silently, almost expecting the young man to lash out, to blame him, to make a ruckus. In his worry, he barely paid attention to what ways they went and the intricate designs of the halls and arches. He would have time to admire them later; he was sure, for all of the years of his painfully long life.

But as they came to the room, the prince simply... Stated the obvious. Loki wanted to roll his eyes as the words came from Thor's mouth, but he was careful not to do so. His magic maybe strong, but it was not fully managed, nor under his control, and if he angered the prince, surely he may just find himself dropped from one of those high towers he had just been admiring.

The doors were pushed open, and finally, Loki spoke. "There is no one who could possibly understand better than i." He whispered softly, moving into the room only after Thor had, hanging his cloak hesitantly on the rack he could barely reach. "I will miss my brother's coronation, my sister's wedding... I-I've been forced from my home... I know you think of my kind as monsters, but we feel just as much as you, or even those of midgard." He managed the small speech with an even, soft tone, which is more than he could have said when he gave it to his closest brother, Faiador, not a fortnight ago. He had raged, thrown everything in his reach, and then retracted into a small, blue ball of sobbing Loki, which even the second youngest child had no difficulties picking up.

"Forgive me; I did not realize i would be intruding your private rooms. I had thought perhaps we would have separate rooms for the time." He looked around curiously but did not move from his place by the door. He was rather hesitant to do much other than clutch his staff, as if it were his life support. He was not welcome here, that much was obvious, as far away from his home as possible, in new skin even, and he would never be welcomed. Not by his soon-to-be husband, nor Thor's people... He would live his life likely quite alone, attending only what was necessary to keep up their bond between Asgards and the Jotuns. Or at least, that's what his young frightened mind supplied.

~Thor's expression kept the same hard, resolute expression, and he walked into his rooms without another word. He was tired of the Jotun's small, equal voice, the way he seemed to avoid every wrong step with the agility of a rat. He felt weary in the core of his bones, not from today's ride and their meeting with the king of Jotunheim, but at the idea that, now that the disguised ice prince lived with them, it would be even harder for him to persuade Father to come back on his decision. He let his whole body fall on the large seats that decorated his antechambers, made a noncommittal move of the hand, gesturing the way to his bedroom. The rules of hospitality were clear, and applied as well to Asgardians as to Jotuns. Father could order him to share his rooms with the intruder as much as he wished, there was no obligation on his part to lie with him, at least until the day of the wedding.

Drained, he closed his eyes, passed his hand over his face, hoping the Jotun would simply disappear from his life tomorrow morning. It wasn't going to happen. Father had worked for this alliance for too long, and the king would let him marry a princess of Vanaheim or one of the daughters of the noble houses of Asgard if he could use his eldest son to insure the future peace of the Nine Realms.

He didn't move for a moment, letting his mind wander in a state of half-consciousness. He remembered the battered armies coming back to the capital with tales of dark, ancient magic and giants with hearts of ice. There had been terror and rage in their faces, poetry in the way they sharpened their blades. He had been but a young boy when the war had ended, and one of the first memories he had kept from his childhood was the disfigured face of one of his father's generals, coming back from the campaign in Midgard. The sack of Utgarda had been feasted for days in Asgard, and the surrender of the Jotun army had been the object of many songs of the most talented bards of his generation since then. He remembered wishing to destroy them all, the monsters that menaced the realm of his ancestors, lifting his first hammer with thoughts of revenge.

On these thoughts, he felt himself slowly drifting to sleep, still clothed on the chair of his parlor, as the first sun rays pierced through the horizon.

Loki had been about to insist that he take the antechamber, after all, he was the one interrupting Thor's life, but the Asgardian had none of it. Loki was too weary to attempt to fight. It had been a long day, preparing for this, and he would have happily slept on the floor at this point. Finally he bade the young prince a good night before moving through the door. He dared not touch the trinkets or any of his betrothed's personal items, settling for propping his staff up on the side of the bed, unbuckling his bag of personal effects that had been strapped to his back and placing it beside the staff. From the bag, he fished his night clothes and a thick journal, pausing to examine the room.

To be quite frank, Loki would have rather slept outside than in this room, for though Thor lay outside the walls of the bedroom, his presence was a constant one.

He was surrounded by the prince's things; armour, lesson books, spoils of hunts, different weaponry, even the scent he found clinging to the young prince's skin was smothering him, no matter where he took a breath .. Loki gave a shudder, drawing his knees up close to his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Everything about this was unfamiliar, and it didn't set well with him. What he would give to be back in his room, the scent of frost lilies wafting from his basin, the feel of the soft furs he slept on... He would have given everything to be back home.

Slowly, Loki began to undress, removing the gold ribbon that had been woven into the braid, letting his long hair free. It touched just below the small of his back, though he would likely have to cut it shorter. Hair was a luxury in Jotunhiem. If you had it, you were high up on the pyramid and kept it long. Being the youngest prince, he had that luxury. Had he not been training for this role all of his life, it was quite likely Loki would have lived a very easy childhood. Instead it was all about learning the Asgardian customs and ways, grooming to be the very best consort, in hopes of pleasing the Allfather and keeping the piece.

Slowly he stripped from the silken tunic and trousers, easing instead into a sleeping shirt and pair of shorts. To conclude his nightly ritual, he pulled out a thick, leather bound journal, opening it to the first page. He had charmed it himself, the pages would appear blank, until one wrote the password on the very first page, in the very middle of the page. It was a very simply password, the name of his mother, and almost instantly, every journal entry he ever wrote had appeared, starting from his tenth birthday. Another neat little charm. The book had infinite pages that never grew loose or faded, so he could keep track of every entry.

He wrote of the meeting and the rituals before it, how nerve wracking the whole experience was, and how unwelcomed he felt. Despite these feelings, Loki found himself eased by this small bit of normalcy, and was soon closing the feather quill pen in his journal before curling on top of the covers. That was another thing, even in his new skin, he was far too warm here, it felt as if someone had pulled a body suit of wool over him.

He adjusted one last time, moving the pillow in order to better curl himself in the corner of the bed, his eyes finally closing. He would make the best of this, if only to have something positive to write to his family about.

With that last thought, Loki allowed himself to be swept away by the sweet waves of unconsciousness lulling at his mind, easing his mind and body into a look of serenity and peace.


	2. Chapter 2: His Day in Court

Thank you all for the favorites and watches :3 the fact that people are liking it convinced me to add a chapter early today :D I hope you like it! Please review! Feed the author!

Chapter two: His Day in Court

Mornings, for the young prince of Asgard, were something that bordered on the sacred. No matter how late he slept the night before, he would always be up by eight, dressed and ready for his daily training routine. Thor had always been a very active person, and had been trained since a young age to the art of war. His companion of choice, the hammer, was but one of the many weapons he had learned to use on the field of battle.

Today was no exception and, punctual as a clock, he was out in the palace's court at nine, destroying practice targets with the rage of Berseker. Thor had woken up angry, still bitter from the day before, had changed and washed his face in front of his room's large mirror, giving once in a while anxious looks at the closed door of what should have been his bedroom. He knew that the root of his problems couldn't have disapeared overnight, and the unnevitable nature of his situation was slowly starting to sink in. The truth was that Thor didn't really wish for peace like Father did, not if it meant lowering his honor and the honor of his kingdom to marry a Jotun. He still didn't fully understand why Father had chosen to leave to Laufey his crown and his kingdom in exchange for vows of allegiance and the best of his sons. It was foolish to believe the words of the ice king and cowardly to seek peace with him. However, the words of the All Father were not meant to be contested, and Thor could but bend to the will of the sovereign of Asgard.

His head full of unanswered question and resentment, he had made his way to the training grounds, only clad with a soft, light tunic, and set himself to perfect his archery, aiming at the court's fabric target. He had never been very good at it, but could shoot pretty decently, although he had always prefered close combat to any other form of fighting.

Sif joined him a short while after he had started, gave him a look that mixed amusement and concern. While she was aware of Thor's situation and had heard of the Jotun's arrival the same day, she didn't ask any questions, simply taking her own bow and placing herself in position, her posture as impeccable as always and her eyes focussed as she hit the center of the target. Thor turned to her, somehow happy to have company and someone to talk to. He smiled softly, lowering his own weapon.

"It's too early in the morning to compete with you."

She gave him a knowing look.

"It's too early in the morning to be as bad as you are at archery. Don't you have officials to meet today ?"

Thor shrugged, his expression darkening. He looked at the sun, made an annoyed face. Noon was still an hour away, but he needed to get himself and the Jotun prince ready.

"I should get going. Tell the others I'll meet them after I'm done getting stared at by the whole of Asgard for being bethroted to a Jotun."

Sif didn't answer, her expression as she turned back to the target undecipherable. It showed neither anger or sympathy, but this strange, melancholic compassion, as if she comprehended how it felt to be treated like a trade agreement without being able to relate with his feelings.

He made his way back to his rooms, ignoring the curious looks the inhabitants of the palace. Gossip did indeed travel fast between the walls of Valhalla, and there was but a few things that made him any more annoyed than the anonymous whispers of the court. In a few minutes, he was back in his antechambers, knocking on the door of his bedroom and, recieving no answer, opening the door in a harsh, sudden movement.

When Loki woke up, half asleep, he could almost swear he was home in Jotunhiem, waking for his lessons. In fact, it was still dark out when he woke, just like it was for his lessons. But then, everything just came swimming back to his mind, and he had to bite down on his finger to keep back the strangled sound that threatened to grace his presence.

Mornings for Loki had meant long lessons with the ambassador for Asgard, learning the ways of the people and the courts. For once, the Jotun boy found himself able to go back to sleep. He slept until he heard the door slamming, signaling Thor taking his leave. He stood slowly from where he had curled, smoothing out the bed where he had wrinkled the bed clothes and blankets, the pillows being righted. There was little to no way he could continue any of his morning routines, but damned well would try.

He carefully found a clear area of floor, moving to do his simple stretches, carefully avoiding the prince's things. Next was to wash, which, he found the basin quite easily. The pitcher of water being carefully poured in and a rag found, Loki scrubbed at his face and neck, cleaning himself the best he could, as if he could simply scrub away the pale skin that now covered his body. When he glanced into the polished mirror, however, it was still as pale as the moonlight over snow, if a bit red from his vigorous scrubbing.

It was with a sigh he finally dressed in the red tunic and black trousers he laid out, shoving his things back into his bag.

Who knew how long it would be before Thor returned, or the Allfather came to collect him. He was definitely not prepared to go out and face the realm that hated him so. Instead, he grabbed up his things and retreated to the antechambers, leaving the Prince's room exactly as he had found it.  
He finally settled himself into one of the more hidden chairs, a book in his lap, a finger on his delicate pink lower lip, moving idly back and forth as he studied the contents, his green eyes twitching across each word as he mentally translated the elvish into Asgardian, then further into the language of Jotunhiem. It was a truly fascinating book on Elvish history and culture, how they lived, the societies that they built.

He was unaware of how quickly time passed and was soon brought back to the present when Thor stomped into the room. In fear, he froze, listening as Thor pounded on the door to his bedroom, before throwing those doors open. He watched as the Asgardian stared into the empty room for a mere moment before he cleared his throat.

"I touched nothing but the bed and basin. I would be happy to sleep here tonight, so you may have your own bed," He offered gently, his eyes turning back to the book in his hands.

Tho shrugged off the proposition with a large move of the shoulders, not actually answering. He didn't even want to think about how they were going to manage how they'd live together.

Taking a few step forward, Thor gave a suspicious look at the room, the bed strangely unwrinkled and nothing but the Jotun's large spear against it. He wondered for a moment if the boy had slept on the floor or made the bed right after rising. He was too quiet, and it felt weird, how incredibly different he was of the frost giants of his ancestor's tales, a book in his hands, as he had been interrupted in his reading. He could have passed as an Asgardian, looking like this, or maybe more like a Vanir, with his delicate features and obvious taste for knowledge. He knew that the Jotun was a sorcerer, of what talent he knew not, and that the mastery of the art of magic necessitated countless hours of study and practice. He had yet to learn what kind of magic he practiced, as he knew but little of the one practiced by the Jotuns, save their frightful use of the Casket of Ancient Winters.

Thor walked up to him, looked at him for a moment, a questioning look on his face. He was himself a taller than the boy, who looked up to him with green, piercing eyes. It felt weird, somehow, to have to interact with him, to make him look as good as he could in front of the court because that was what Father had wanted and ordered. He tried not to wince at the thought that he would eventually have to be more than civil to him, tried to focus on the present and the task he had to accomplish for today.

"We'll meet the court of Valhalla. Try not to make too bad of an impression, Jotun. And answer the door when I knock."

On these words, he turned went to his drawers, getting himself his ceremonial garnments. They sort of pleased him, although he had always preferred the feeling of the light fabric he wore for training or the heavy, important weight of a battle armor. Mother had had them made for him on his fifteenth year, but he had grown since then, and the seams of the shoulders were getting a bit tight on his body. The caress of the soft fabric on his fingertips made him close his eyes. He undressed, slid into them without a word, facing the wall, and turned to Jotun once he was done.

"Aren't you going to change ?"

Loki listened for a moment while Thor examined the room, turning back to his book and attempting to concentrate on the elvish language. It was difficult, to say the least, his heart thudding at the Asgardian's presence. Perhaps it was because he knew of the Prince's hate for him and his kind, or simply the tension of the arranged marriage. Either way, he found himself rereading the same sentence over and over until Thor came and stood beside him.

He looked up at the young Prince, meeting that confused, questioning look with a similar look of his own. He couldn't read Thor's expression, not yet, but after the time they spend forced together, he should be able to.

"It matters not wether I make a good or bad impression. A good one will do nothing, a bad one will simply assure them I am a monster. Either way, I will be hated." Loki was admittedly hurt by the fact and it came through in his voice. But there was nothing to be done about it. Nothing he could do to help or prevent it.

He placed a woven book mark in the thick tome, setting it down by the window and looking as the prince walked away. "I've been in the antechambers since early morn when you left, I did answer, but you knocked on the wrong door." He had gotten out of the room as quickly as possible. As the prince dressed, Loki moved to fetch his staff, carefully not looking at Thor as he moved to his bag to see what he had. Ignoring the question, idiotic as it was, he pulled out his favorite silk robes, green with gold trim, silver lining the underside of his cape.  
He dressed carefully, noting the difference from the skin he had been born with. There was a mole or two, but other than that it was one toned, rather even, except for one scar on his shoulder where he had been speared by an icicle as a child. The tissue and skin there was paler, if possible, and raised slightly.  
He pulled on his silk garments and carefully pulled his hair back, braiding it as he had yesterday. The last thing he did was grab his staff and turn towards Thor, giving a little bow of his head. "Lead the way." He murmured, of course, not knowing where anything would be in this blasted place.

There was resignation in the Jotun's voice, in the soft sounds of his footsteps and the corner of his green irises. It made Thor mad, in a way, as, through the company of the ice prince, he felt that same heavy weariness take over his body, extinguishing whatever he had left of a fight in him. They couldn't do anything against it, no matter how much they wished they could, but it didn't mean Thor had any intention of giving up just yet, or at least he had thought so. The Jotun could simply accept his fate, but the prince of Asgard had no intention of stepping over his own honor without at least trying to put an end to this disgraceful union.

Without much of a word, he led them out to the throne room, where they were to be presented to the court and various embassadors from different allied kingdoms. The ceremonials of the court of Asgard had always been impressively complicated, at least to Thor, who respected them whilst he couldn't help but to question their relevance. One of his tutor in etiquette had explained to him that it showed the refinement and power of Asgard, but Thor had loudly disagreed, arguing that the Asgard wasn't Vanaheim and that it had always been through the tips of their swords that the Asgardians had proved their might, and not the womanly delicacy of their ways. He, nonetheless, stopped a few hundred meters before the entered the hall, giving the Jotun a small speech as how to act in the presence of the court, "Follow me and do exactly as I do. Only answer if talked to. There might be foreign dignitaries present who prefer and are allowed to speak in their mother tongue. Even if you do understand their dialect, ask for a translator and answer only in Asgardian. And one last thing; do not accept any gift presented to you today."

One these words, he reluctantly took the Jotun's delicate hand in his own, dragging him to the throne room under the bright light that made Valhalla shine at noon. They passed the large gates under the eyes judging eyes of the courteasans and members of the government that had come early to today's audience session only to discover the face of the prince's soon-to-be consort. Thor wasn't a child anymore, nor was he of age yet to receive an actual seat in Valhalla. Ignoring the badly hushed sounds of palace gossip, he placed himself next to Father's empty seat, trying to look dignified as the world querelled about the King's madness and the unworldly alliance he had crafted for Jotunheim and Asgard.

Thor may be able to try fighting this fate, but what was Loki to do? He was in a kingdom that hated him, far away from his home and too afraid to go out of the chambers alone. Who knew what the Asgardians may do? In the tales and even the stories his tutor told him, the people were vile, viscious, not caring what they hacked apart with their swords as long as it brought them glory. If he stepped out without the presence of Thor or the Allfather he may just be used for sparring and archery practice. How was he to fight it? This had been planned before his birth, he was raised to know this was the only option for him. He had tried fighting, every season of his life he had faught it, but now there was no use. He was in Asgard, and no one could save him from the fate that lies ahead.  
He followed Thor with out question, walking silently and following Thor like a living shadow. At least the Allfather would be there. He liked the old king, he wasn't sure why. Perhaps he knew he was safest with Allfather. The man had never gone back on his word to Laufey, and Loki knew he would do all in his power to keep him safe.

He nearly flinched at Thor's harsh tone to him as they stopped, meeting the Prince's eyes firmly, the greens of them flashing irritably. How he wanted to say no, to disregaurd the prince's words and raise holy hell. He did not like being ordered around, and the prince would learn that soon enough. Against his will he nodded and bowed his head meakly, his hand simply resting in Thor's, not grasping or winding, just sitting limply. He was glad his head was bowed down and his eyes were lowered, because as they entered, talk of event silenced and he could feel the weight of the Court's stares. it was suffocating, and if it had not been for Thor, he likely wouldn't have moved from that spot, in fear for his life.  
He sat beside the prince without a word, staying silent as several more members joined the seats around them, and then, finally, the Allfather stepped in. All was silent as the man and his wife strode into the court room, though the steps paused right in front of Thor and Loki. Glancing up hesitantly, he saw that Odin's wife and urged her husband to stop and was examining him with the first pair of kind eyes the Jotun had seen since arriving at Asgard.

"What is your name, dearest?" She murmured softly, smiling encouragingly at him. Though she likely knew already, it would have been rude not to answer. He cleared his throat once before whispering just loud enough to be heard. "L-Loki Laufson, my lady."

The woman smiled a little wider and reached out her free hand smoothing over a wrinkle or two in his shoulders. "I hear you are quite the schollar, Loki, and you are welcome in my library any time you wish. Infact, you are quite welcome to explore Valhalla. Anyone who dares remark or harm you, may answer to me." Ignoring the clearing of her husband's throat, showing his light disaproval, Frigga smiled again at Loki.

"Th-thank you," The boy managed before the King and Queen of Asgard took their seats, leaving him a little embarrassed, but far less worried. He had gained the approval of the queen, enough that she had welcomed him, and allowed him to make use of her library. Perhaps this was a good sign?

Thor eyed, for a moment, Father, who sat at the head of the hall, his expression unreadable. Mother took place next to him, as radiant as ever, her dress floating around her. He knew she had always ardently wished for peace between the kingdoms, being herself a foreigner in Asgard. His own complaints had found in her a deaf ear, and she had simply caressed his hair and whispered that, in time, he would understand. Thor tried not to sigh, hiding his shame with a dignified face.

As soon as the Allfather sat, the crowd that had watched them enter the throne room seemed to instantly gather in an ordained manner, presenting their regards to the king and the newfound alliance with Jotunheim, their tongue heavy with flattery and lies. Thor tried not sniff in disgust, as they gave the Jotun and himself looks that mixed thinly-veiled disgust and morbid curiosity. He wasn't particularly found of him, but it hurt his pride to just stand here and let the world gaze at his bethroted with unaldultered hate. He searched, in the crowd, for the familiar faces of Sif, Fandrall, Vollstag and Hogun, but his companions had either recieved his message to Sif or understood in that silent, knowing manner that he didn't wish them to be here.

First spoke the envoys of the biggest noble families of the realm, proudly displaying the sigil of their houses, talking in that elaborate speech proper to native Aesir gentlemen. They offered no presents to the Allfather, only wishing Thor their best wishes for the wedding, not even looking at the boy who stood meekly beside him. Then came the embassadors from the foreign regions of the empire, the small, laughing form of two black elves from Svartalfaheim, bringing with them their impressive metalwork, scratching their beards as they presented it to Thor. He looked at the pair of helmets with an approving smile, politely refused it with dismissiong move of the head. They closed their casket with a scoff, letting the messengers from Vanaheim take their place.

The relationship Asgard had with the Vanir was a complicated one. Unlike the other states federated to the realm, Vanaheim had never truly been conquered by the Asgardians, choosing instead to sign a compromise after the heavy losses they had recieved during the last years of the Aesir-Vanir War. It was said that some still held a grudge for the treaty that had made them reluctant allies to their ancient enemies, but the marriage policies of the Vanir royal line had, for generations, ensured a relative independency for the kingdom and a rich, powerful economy that made the pride of the ancient, erudite race of the West. Numerous Vanir actually lived in Asgard, had brought with them strange customs from the West but were generally respected, as they were known for the remarkable number of scientist belonging to their race.

The Vanir embassador was a thin, wire-like blond man, with his very pale blond hair tied in an elegant bun true to Vanir fashion. The bow he made was a long, elegant one. He spoke perfect Asgardian, although Thor could hear the tip of his accent rolling itself around his Hs and Ss, first adressing his regards to the Allfather and then turning toward Thor and his consort.

"The lady Freyja presents her best wishes for the new royal couple, the mighty Thor Odinson and his companion Loki Laufson. She sends for them this ancient edition of the Prose Edda, directly from Vanaheim's royal library. We hope this is to your liking."

On these words, he turned toward the younger boy with a gracious smile, speaking in a dialect Thor recognised as Jotun. The whole hall fell silent, as if stuck by lightning. All eyes turned toward them and Thor's hands curled into fists. This wasn't happening.

Loki watched the proceedings beneath his eyelashes, head slightly bowed, showing he was nothing more than a reluctant participant. He wanted to assure those that believed him to be a monster that he was no threat, this was no evil plan, no trick of sorcery, nothing. His hands folded prettily in his lap, Loki glanced up slowly as the ambassadors began spewing sugar-coated words and poison-honey lies. He supposed the people only hid their hate for him to avoid Odin's wrath. He was careful to be slow and smooth with any movements he made, not fidgeting, though he did reach for a goblet of water that had been placed by one of the servers. He sipped it idly, watching calmly and quietly as the ambassadors brought gifts and false well-wishes, giving no approval nor otherwise at the gifts and words, instead giving the same small smile he gave everyone, his eyes kind and face serene, hiding the loathing he had for each person who cast him a disgusted look and then smiled and wished him a long happy life or marriage or what ever.

When The Vanir ambassador came with the book, his face remained as it was but his mind was racing, shocked that lady Freyja would gift such a rare, priceless tome. What wonders could that tome hold? What could he learn from such a novel? He could see the horrified look on Thor's face in the corner of his eye, but he payed him no attention, grudgingly remembering what he had been told. Decline and use translators.

Damn, he was really looking forward to that tome.

He beckoned lightly to the translator, simply saying, "Forgive me, could you?"

"It was exactly what was said in Asgardian, Prince Loki, simply in Jotun."

"Thank you," He whispered softly, turning towards the blond ambassador with a lovely smile. "I'm afraid we must respectfully decline. There is no possibility that we could accept such a treasure, but please, send our thanks to Lady Freyja. Her kind words and approval coupled are gift enough." His asgardian flawless, mannerisms impeccable. There, ha. Let's see thor's face now. He had been trained just as well in Politics and courtly and mannerisms in asgard just as long as he had in the language itself. "My Jotun isn't very fluent. I can read it just fine, but I'm afraid pronouncing and proper word and sentence structure is an entirely different matter." He murmured to Thor, just loud enough to be heard by others.

Thor felt his whole body automatically ease, his hands uncurling and resting flat against his knees. The Jotun was good, too good, better than Thor had ever been at these petty court politics, his smile practiced, his tone just as polite and delicate as the tone all the other envoys used to hide their contempt. For a moment, he wondered if he enjoyed it, if the mythical ice palace of king Laufey also had the intrigues and little wars of words and gestures of the hand that poisoned life in Valhalla. He nodded at the Jotun's words, and Father sent back the Vanir embassador with thanks and wishes of well-being to the Vanir queen and her brother.

The Vanir had always been known for their agressive diplomacy and stayed the only ones who tried to talk directly to the new consort that day. When the sun finally hit the line marked on the marble floor at the end of the hall, Father raised from his seat and officially ended today's audience. Thor supressed a growl of pleasure as he hated the pompt and the ceremonial of the king of Asgard's audiences, prefering the serious, direct talk of his private council. He followed Mother in silence as they exited the large hall, checking if the Jotun had been following him all along. They found a quieter place outside and Mother gave him one of her warm, knowing expressions, gesturing toward the Jotun.

"Follow the Queen, she'll show you around and can open the library for you if you wish. I have other matters to attend to so we'll see each other only tonight."  
Without really being aware of it, he found himself about to thank him for avoiding the trap Lady Freyja had obviously set for him. The words got stuck in his throat, and he choked, only scoffing as he left Loki to the cares of Mother. Father gave him one last look before following his consellors to the war room and Thor understood imediately the command in his unique, deep blue eye. He tried not to look too displeased, He kneeled slightly, pressed a light kiss on the back of the Jotun's hand, and left to the training grounds, his palms itching for the handle of a sword.

To be honest, the war of words had been far worse in Jotun. Thinly vieled insults flying from lips, fighting back and forth cleverly until one or the other would back down, humbled and possibly humiliated by the words. Compaired to one of their gatherings, this was nothing but a light conversation, more like discussing weather paterns than dancing around politics. He sat back in his chair and tried not to seem too smug as the proceedings continued. It was a good deal of time later when Odin finally stood and sent the people dispersing, and Loki had to wonder. If he got on Freyja's good side, would he be allowed to have the book?

Likely not, but he could dream couldn't he?

He stood and moved with his intended, Following him and the Queen from the throne room, stopping when Thor did. At the instruction, he inclined his head politely, both agreeing and showing he had understood the Asgardian's will, moving to Frigga's side with a sincere smile on his face. He liked the queen, kind and thoughtful as she was, and he was delighted to get to know his future mother-in-law, if only because she knew just as well what he was going through.

"I wish you good day, then. I shall see you when you've finished." His normal, natural tone was quite more pleasent than the forced tone, if one payed attention to it. He was just about to turn to the queen when Thor took his hand and kissed it politely. It was obviously a little forced, but the gesture of kindness eased Loki's thoughts a little, dispite the odd snort the prince gave. He found himself - Oddly - watching Thor until he disappeared from his view.


	3. Chapter 2 and a half: The Library

This chapter isn't necessary to the story, but its a cute bit of Frigga's life and interaction with Loki. TwilightEclps brought up that Valhalla may not be the castle where Thor and Odin reside and, twilight, you are correct xDD Valhalla is the hall of rewards that fallen soilders went to rest and feast with the gods after this life, in norse mythology. Leo and I Just didn't have a better name for the place xD

Thank you guys for the awesome reviews! You guys are really doing wonders for Leo's self esteme. His first language is not english, so the fact that you guys are loving this story so much is doing wonders for him 33 Thank you so much!

Chapter 2.5 ~ The Library

Frigga knew better than anyone else how it felt to be a stranger in Valhalla, how utterly out of place she had felt when she had been brought to this place by her father, her mind the one of a young girl but her body already the one of a woman. She had never been brought up to be a queen, learning everything that made her today Odin's respected consort observing and mimicking the mannerisms and customs of the higher houses of the realm. People had hated her, and those same people today revered her, because she had fought for it.

Frigga was born the youngest daughter of one of the richest Aesir merchants, who, through banking, had raised himself as one of the most powerful men of the known world. Being an ethnic Aesir, she had spent most of her childhood in Vanaheim, her Àlf nurse teaching her the delicate, complicated language of the Vanir and the secrets of divination. She still remembered, even today, the taste of the fruits that arrived from the South, pushed by the soft caress of the wind, and the strange, ethereal music that floated in the air of the port during the summer nights. While it would have been wrong to assume that she didn't miss it, the soft, exotic fabrics and the taste of the spicy mead that came to the metropolis directly from Muspelheim, it would have also been false to say that she wished to go back. Frigga had brought to her family the dignity of royal rank, and even though Odin had been betrothed to her only to fill the finances of the kingdom, which had been dilapidated by the then-ongoing war with Jotunheim, she loved her husband very dearly, and him back.

Still, sometimes, when the foremost peers of the kingdom looked at her with that soft, hushed anger, she couldn't help but to be reminded of that young girl, walking through the doors of Valhalla for the first time, her whole body trembling as they presented her to the royal family. She remembered the insults thrown in her back with a laughing tone, how people sniffed in her presence to see if she smelled of spices and fish like her father's docks.

Her sympathy for Loki came not from pity but understanding; he reminded her of her own, younger self, and how much she had wished for someone to help her in the past. She smiled at the young boy, as if to apologise for her son's behaviour.

"Please follow me. I'll show you to the library. Today is a very busy day, so I think it might be better to visit the rest of the palace another day."

She led Loki through a maze of smaller corridors and hidden stairs. It was pretty obvious that, even though he seemed able to handle very well the falseness and decorum of the Asgardian court, he didn't enjoy getting stared at like he had been earlier, in the great hall. She understood, and skipped on purpose the most impressive sights of the palace to head directly to the library, as she had said. She had seen that small, intelligent glint in Loki's otherwise neutral eyes when she had granted him the access to her own personal collection and the longing in the twitch of his lips when he had been presented with Lady Freyja's books.

She made a sad smile. As an Aesir raised in Vanaheim, she knew better than anyone the tension that subsisted between the two realms, but the machinations of the southern queen and her brother made her mad. True, Thor should have been promised to a Vanir, to honor the alliance their ancestors had made with their country all those years ago, but Vanaheim had no idea of how costly and destructive to Asgard the war with Jotunheim had been and how desperate they were to insure that king Laufey would stay true to his word and keep the peace.

Her train of thoughts was abruptly cut short as she recognised the familiar doors of the library her uncle had given her as a present for her wedding. The door had been imported from the expensive workshops of the dwarf masters in their workshops of Svaltarfarheim. She placed her hand against the wooden handle, opened the library, leading Loki inside.

It was a large, comfortable room, painted in a rich red colour that matched the dark tone of the wooden bookcases that covered most of the walls. Odin had had made it so she would feel at home, as she described to him, in her then heavily accented Asgardian, the library of her father in Vanaheim. Frigga had found herself captivated by the study of the ancient stories from the years past only after her arrival to Asgard. Being raised in Vanaheim had taught her the customs of the Vanir, but she knew very little of the ways of her own people. It had helped her understand and she had, since then, added to her collection numerous other volumes about various subjects, ranging from magic to politics.

Taking a few steps into the room, she turned to Loki, hoping he would feel at home here.

"Thor has never been very fond of books, so I was very happy when I learnt you had an interest for them. His tutors always had to drag him from the fields to get him here, and he only ever studied when his father expressly commanded him to do so. But, dearest, you're always welcome here, so come whenever you wish so, and simply ask me if you're searching for anything in particular. Feel free to borrow any book you want, just please do take care of them if you do."

Loki followed the woman quite willingly, finding himself quite at ease in her presence. He found himself relaxing for the first time in months, his shoulders slumping into a far more natural position, his smile real and serene. Everyone knew that the queen was Aesir, and knowing that the woman was reaching out to help him adjust to his new life meant more than he could say. Mentally, he mapped the way they were taking, gleefully imagining hours of sneaking away to come to the library, of days and nights alike spent studying his magic and reading about other lands. For him, books weren't merely for studying, they were there to help explore the far and distant places, to have you pondering the meanings of the world and different philosophies.

To him, books were an escape from the real world.

He couldn't help the way he beamed up at Frigga when she paused at the doors, though his mouth dropped when the woman pushed open the door, revealing the tall bookcases. He had seen maybe a fourth as many books in the Jotun library. This was amazing! The warm colour of the entire room was relaxing, the wide sills of the windows were cushioned, perfect for reading on warm summer days and several plush chairs had been set by a large hearth, for chilly, sleepless nights.

He felt absolutely welcomed, and more at home than he had felt in his own room.  
"Oh! My lady i will treat each page as if it were made of the most delicate silken lace!" Loki swore breathlessly, his mind racing. He couldn't know where to begin! There were so many books, and the shelves reached the tops of the high vaulted ceiling. He could spend years here and never read all the wonderful tomes!

After a moment, he cleared his throat, beaming at Frigga. "What would you suggest, M'lady? I could know not where to begin!" He smiled brightly, taking a few steps so he was standing near her. "If i had been given the choice, i would have never left our library. I would have studied every known subject. I thirst for knowledge as much as a warrior thirsts for adventure!"

The enthusiasm Loki showed for books made Frigga smile, as she recognized the same energy in Thor tone and manner when, as a child, she had sung to him the songs of his ancestors and their glorious battles. There was the same spark in the corner of his eyes, the impatience in the slight trembling of his lips and the restlessness of his hands. It was hard for her to hate him, as, unlike her son, she had been raised away from the court of Asgard and its prejudices. She had a hard time understanding the meaning of the grudge between the two races. Had not the Vanir and Aesir despised each other with the same hatred for centuries and fought with the same rage destructive, countless wars ? Had they not reached peace and learned to admire and respect each other's traditions and culture ? Having lived most of her childhood with the Vanir and being herself from a family of Asgard, she knew that tensions still existed, but it couldn't compare to the hatred the Jotun prince had received when he had met today with the head of the Aesir.

She shook her head. It was nothing she could do against, if not to offer Loki her help and her protection. She kept the same calm, joyful expression as she answered.

"I don't know what might interest you. Do you, by any chance, enjoy poetry ? I have received not so long ago a copy of the latest creations from this young Àlf writer, although I do not remember his name clearly, as he dedicated on of his ballads to me."

She put a finger to her lips, thinking for a moment. Where had the servants put it ? It must have been next to rest of her poetry collection. She turned, raised herself at the tip of her toes and grabbed a small, black book from one of the higher shelves. The binding felt fresh, untouched under her fingers, as she had not yet found the time to read it. The leather cover felt fresh under her fingers, and she handed it to Loki with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Oh, I forgot, do you read Elvish, my dear ? They thought about making me a translation, but I understand it just fine and it's so much better in the author's own tongue."

She let out a sigh, rolled her eyes.

"They tend to do that. I guess you were warned about not using anything but Asgardian within the walls of the palace. Protocol. I'm terribly sorry for this morning's audience. It's usually not that bad. It's just that you're novelty for them, and the Aesir tend to be awful to novelty."

"Books in general interest me. Anything I can get my hands on to read." He assured, spinning slowly to fully take in the room. Even if he had not been forced into this position, Loki would have studied the Asgardian culture, just as closely as he had in this life. "I love poetry. Sheik, my caretaker, used to read me to sleep with Vanir poetry." Loki assured, smiling fondly at the thought of his old caretaker. He followed the elegant woman eagerly, examining the shelves and Spines of books as they passed. How often would Thor need him for diplomatics? He wondered, reaching out to stroke a book he had read over and over with feather light touches. Until things settled down, he would very much like to spend as much time here as he could. Or even learning things from the queen.

Despite the fact that she had been a foreigner, Frigga had obviously done well. Some how she had managed to win over these people, and even her husband, who looked upon her in such a loving way. He was not sure he would find love in this relationship, but he would not mind being at least civil or friendly with Thor.

But no, that was impossible. Her being an Aesir was far different than him being Jotun. Loki was a Frost Giant, something that was to be hated and shunned, and no amount of skin changing or tale weaving would change that fact.

He'd actually stopped moving of his own accord, staring at a thick red-bound book while Frigga searched the shelves. He was quick to catch up with her, his hands reaching for what she was handing him. He smiled at the feel of the finely bound leather book, the pads of his fingers stroking over the cover before he opened it carefully. No, he could gather it had never been read. The pages were still stiff, as if it had just been written and bound that morning, yet a thin layer of dust had gathered on the back cover.

"Thank you, M'lady, i will treat it with the utmost respect. Yes, I read Elvish. I can also read Jotun, Asgardian, and a bit of Vanirian if put to the test." He admitted with a small smile, his eyes scanning the first page. After a moment, he looked up at her, the piercing green softened a bit, "Will it always be like this, Ma'am?" He asked softly, for the first time, truly showing his age. He was not some great, all knowing sorcerer - he was a child, barely on the cusp of adulthood. In a few moons, he would be fifteen and married. He was frightened, confused, and hurt, and had no one to turn to but the kind Queen.

Frigga placed her hands on Loki's shoulders, her expression caught between affection and sadness. Her lips but a thin line, she wanted to tell him that it would be alright, that time made people change and that, soon enough, he would feel at home here. She knew those words to be false, and it pained her to be the one to break it to him. She tried to smile.

"It will, in a way. There will always be the others, the ones who sneer at you behind your back because you weren't born in the right family in the right place. I was born no noblewoman, only the daughter of a man who had worked his whole life to elevate himself at the same rank than the bluebloods of Asgard. Some still hate me for it, but their voices do not matter, as I am with the one I love."

It felt odd, how memories just flooded her, and she felt herself getting submerged by the ghosts of the past. She looked at Loki and remembered the ridiculously expensive dress they had made her wear when she had arrived, how she had spent her first night here crying and missing so dearly the softness of her own bed and the warmth of the sun in Vanaheim. She wondered for a moment if he felt the same now, if he missed the eternal snow of Jotunheim and the strange, tattooed blue skin he had abandoned to come here. He probably did, and yet, this way, he looked so unlike a Jotun she wondered how he ever could have lived between the walls of Laufey's ice castle. She supposed that, even with his small height and lithe body, he had managed just fine, as he seemed to have received decent care and education. She knew but little of the ways of the Jotuns, but she was reassured by how polite and well bred he had shown himself so far. She had kept secret her precedent apprehensions about her son's future husband, but she felt better now, recognising goodness and intelligence in this boy's physiognomy and manners. She left a lingering touch on the book she has placed in Loki's hands.

"I hope you'll be happy here, and I'll do my best to make you feel at home, or something that might, at some point, resemble it. While he might act arrogant and brash sometimes, Thor is a brave warrior and will certainly become a great king one day. You're very lucky to have him, as I was lucky to have Odin."

His shoulders relaxed a little more under Frigga's delicate touch, finding his green eyes drawn to look into hers. Loki was... Honestly relieved that the woman didn't sugar coat the truth too much. She was gentle, straightforward and kind. "Thank you, M'lady. I... I suppose I am lucky." Things could be worse, he supposed, though no instances jumped to his mind. He rubbed the palm of his hand over the book's spine, smiling a little. Yes, perhaps he could survive here. "May I go look around?" He asked, the childish enthusiasm back in his voice and eyes. Frigga could only laugh, bestowing a motherly kiss to the top of his head before waving him off, only reminding him to pull himself away to attend supper.


	4. Chapter 3: Training

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Chapter Three: Training

The days were passing slowly for Loki as he read and slowly explored the rooms of Valhalla. He found himself spending hours examining the designs in the architect, the tasteful art pieces decorating the halls, and even moving onto the grounds a little to examine the warriors and his intended training. It was nice to see the people interacting with each other, laughing heartily at jokes. It reminded him of nights spent after lessons with his siblings, laughing and throwing snow at each other just outside the castle walls.

He couldn't help smiling gently as he watched, or even bringing a book out to read in the warmth if the sun. He usually managed to find a secluded spot. Though no one dared bother him after Queen Frigga's display in court, he still go plenty of looks and loud comments from some of the residents, making Loki quick to scurry back to his and Thor's room.

It seemed though his exploring did not go unnoticed. He himself had seen Odin examining him once in a while before moving to speak with his son, though nothing came of it until he found himself being woken by Thor one morning, insisting he get out of bed as the sun began to rise, and to dress for the fields. Loki had only managed to stumble from the bed after Thor had left, the other boy already eager to be in training. A jaw cracking yawn came from Loki as he stumbled to the basin for a quick wash before dressing in loose leather sparing trousers and a cloth tunic that wouldn't be ruined if used for a bit of training.

He stretched and managed his hair quickly, all but pinning it to his head in a tight bun. The last thing he needed was his long hair getting caught or grabbed by some idiot insistent on smashing his head in. Then, he was off, staff in hand to catch up with Thor.

The words of Father were sacred and Thor obeyed, as it had always been expected of him. The Allfather had expressed his discontentment during yesterday's war council at which Thor had assisted. The counselors, after the Jotun prince's first impression at court, had divided into two fractions; the ones who actually supported the alliance with Jotunheim, and the ones who called it disgraceful, preferring war over dishonor. Of course, Father listened to both of them but stayed unmovable on his decision; Asgard wasn't Jotunheim, and they would not go back on the treaty concluded with king Laufey. Thor had found himself simply watching generals and diplomats discuss of his future, as Father gave him once in a while an undecipherable look, his face suddenly so much older and weary.

After leaving the assembly in the evening, Thor had headed directly for the stables, riding Lightning up to the western limit of the city. He had sat alone on the grass, looking up at the stars, wondering if they would look the same if he had married a Vanir, as it was intended. He thought of the beautiful queen Freyja in her silvery palace, how, as a child, he had looked at her with admiration and wonder. He had been only eight when he had seen her for the first time, with her long golden hair and her dress made of the finest fabric in the Nine Realms. He headed back to the palace, wincing at the thought of having to sleep once again in his parlor.

Aside from the useless politics that surrounded his upcoming wedding, the last few days had been calm ones, nearly too calm. He had not had the occasion of leaving Asgard to answer the call of adventure, as Father was too preoccupied by the current situations and numerous protests coming from the Vanir after the Jotun prince's debut at the Asgardian court to offer him any monster to slay or exotic locations to visit in the name of Asgard. He had mainly spent his days training with Sif and the Warriors Three, hunting in the woods that surrounded the city and avoiding the ice prince, only exchanging a few words in the morning and the evening.

Loki, that was the Jotun's name, read a lot, spoke little and ate as a bird would have done, in small quantities and with timid, small movements, as if he feared for the plates to just run away if he made any brash gesture. Thor avoided looking at him when they shared their meals in complete silence, but he couldn't help but to be fascinated with the way he seemed to inspect his food before putting it in his mouth in small bites. Thor guessed that the food in king Laufey's court was very different from the things the Aesir ate and it unsettled the Jotun. He didn't ask, though. As soon as he finished eating his usual large portion of roasted pig and mead, he usually rose from his seat, bid farewell to the boy and left to either the stables or the training grounds.

The words of Father were sacred. The Allfather wished him to be closer this weird, meek boy, who spoke rarely and in that odd, elaborate manner reserved to diplomats at all time, and who, under the milky white of his skin, hid the icy blue body of a Jotun. Thor had sighed at the soft but still somehow pressing command, bowing to Father as he always did. The Jotun was to train with him tomorrow in the morning, as he needed to learn the Asgardian way of battle to gain respect from the higher houses of the realm. Thor obeyed, as it had always been expected of him, woke his guest as the sun rose, told him to meet him in the palace's training grounds.

Thor had taken great care for his friends not to meet the prince who he was to marry in the next few moons. Fandral had been pitiless, bugging him to know if the legends were true, and if Frost Giants really were as cold inside as their name suggested until Sif gave him a smack at the back of the head, reminding him how he often needed to bring up Thor's name whenever he wanted to seduce maidens. Aside from that, and the low snickering Volstagg sometimes emited when Fandral mentioned the supposed shape-shifting ability Jotuns had and how Thor should totally use that to his advantage, as it was probably the only way he'd ever get to lie with Sif, they didn't mention his future marriage too much. Hogun's only comment on the event was when he had remarked out, at one point, that Thor seemed distracted when they were hunting, and there had been that dark look in his eyes as he spoke with his calm, equal voice.

Thor had been glad to meet Sif, awake and ready, when he arrived in the field. He had guessed that archery was a good start, as the Jotun didn't seem, in any way, cut for handling correctly the sword or the battle axe. He had sent a message to Sif the night before to join them there, as she had always been a talented archer and, of Thor's friends, she seemed to be the prejudiced against the Jotun prince. She gave him a questioning look as he arrived alone, clad in his usual light training clothes, and he shrugged.

"Where is he?"

"Waking up. He does take an awful lot of time to get ready in the morning. I told him to meet us here."

Sif made a face, although Thor couldn't quite tell if she was displeased or simply nervous. Her father had fought in the war, nearly died when the Asgardians had stormed the capital and still kept on his body the marks of the frightful magic of king Laufey's Casket of Ancient Winters. She hadn't expressed any opinion about the situation Thor had found himself in, but there was something uneasy in the way she slightly flinched when she asked about the Jotun.

"I wondered..."

She paused halfway, obviously trying to find the right words. She wasn't good for twisting words to her will, something her mother often complained about, as she oft came out as too direct and indelicate for a lady in society.

"Did you two... How do you cohabit?"

Thor laughed at Sif's question. No matter how many of Fandral's lewd jokes she heard every day when the four of them were together, she still felt uneasy asking Thor those kinds of questions. He was glad, though, that she showed concern about him, letting herself show the softer, nicer side of her strong, fiercely independent personality. He grabbed one of the bows she had brought, verifying the tension of the chord.

"We haven't done anything. I mean, we hardly talk and we don't even sleep in the same bed. Father can't force me to lay with a Jotun, at least not until the wedding. I've left him my own room and I managed to just sleep somewhere else for the time being. It's... It makes me mad to think about it, but Father won't change his mind."

Sif put a hand on his shoulder. She didn't say anything but Thor understood what laid in her carefully neutral expression.

_Do it for Asgard, idiot._

They started quickly, Sif correcting him once again as he raised his bow and tried to shoot arrows the best he could. It took a while for the Jotun to get to the field, holding once again his ridiculously large spear. Thor tried not to roll his eyes, catching the imposing form of Father watching over them in the distance. Hadn't he anything more important to do ? Wasn't there any angry Vanir ambassadors to appease today, any nobleman who wanted to raise an army and fight once again the legions of Jotunheim?

Slightly frustrated, he kept his attention on his target and reminding himself of Sif's instruction as the younger boy placed himself in position to shoot. His posture was all wrong, the bow way too large for his small, bony arms, and Thor tried his best not to sigh at the sight of him. They had given him a sorcerer, who spent his days reading and studying, and it would have been stupid of him to expect anything else from him. But then it happened; a nearly perfect shot, and something that might have been a smug grin on his face as he took a few step back. Thor looked up, seeing that Father had, without him even knowing, disappeared.

Sif was the first to speak up, seemingly unmoved, even though Thor knew there was this undertone of surprise in her voice.

"Impressive. Did you learn to shoot in Jotunheim? King Laufey's troops aren't known for their use of archery."

"Thank you." Loki said politely, readying another arrow from the quiver, giving the bow a little tug to test it before he did switch to a slightly smaller one. "Aye, my brother taught me, from what he saw in battle, the rest I learned from my books." Being that he was so small, there was hardly anything he could practice without being accidentally hurt by his brothers or trainers. "Archery was something that I could do on my own, and avoid getting stepped on by my peers." He admitted with a smile, though he paused to examine Sif.

"Forgive me; my mannerisms are not always with me so early. I am Loki; it's a pleasure to meet you." He offered carefully, even holding out a thin hand to shake. He was surprised when the girl accepted it without a second look and relaxed a little, his eyes looking slightly less deadly than usual. After all, his eyes seemed to be the first thing people examined, after his skin of course.

He gave a little nod when the woman gave her name, committing it to memory as he took aim again. This arrow, he was proud to say, flew straight and true, embedding itself in the heart of the target, the end of it shaking a moment, as if trying to push by the barrier. "I have to say, i worked on this skill for several years, but even then, I'm still surprised when I manage that." he turned to examine Sif's form, quickly picking up the proper way to stand. After all, with only his brother's knowledge and what he managed to glean from the elvish books, Loki knew he could use some improving, and would have shot again, if someone had not appeared in his peripherals.

As he turned, his head whipping so quickly he almost feared he cracked something, he came face to face - or, er, face to chest - with the warriors three. Fandral had taken a disturbing interest in his staff, and Loki's hand was quick to shoot out, the long golden tool leaping from Fandral's hand to his own. "I would appreciate it if you kept to your sword, and left my mother's staff alone." he snipped, sliding it into the leather holster on his back, just to assure himself that it would not be toyed with any further.

"Aw, what can you do with it, little frost? It towers above you. Besides, I was just looking." Fandral smirked, stepping closer to examine the tiny giant. "Eh, so you are the one who is causing all the fuss in the kingdom. I see no reason; you could easily be escorted back to Jotunheim if you cause any trouble."

"Aye and you back to the stables where they found you." Loki sniffed, a small smirk playing on his features, even as Fandral grew flustered. "How dare you! You will pay for that Jotun!" in a flash, the boy had pulled his sword, but there was an advantage to being small, he was more agile than the muscled warrior.

He darted away, narrowly avoiding the sword, which attacked where he had been. His staff was out and held at the ready, watching Fandral's every move. To be honest, he was nervous. He had never tried this with a target that actually caught back, and as Fandral shrugged off his friends' begs, pleas and demands that he stop, Loki found himself concentrating as the man swung the sword over his head and -

THERE!

Loki lunged, catching the blade in the cleverly placed gaps in the head of his staff, keeping it from moving in any way with a quick turn. The slight screech of metal on metal rang in Loki's ears as he flicked his wrist, sending the sword skyward and moving before it even landed, pinning Fandral against the archery target, his staff pressed dangerously to the boy's chest. "I may not be as big as my people, or even as you, but I have felled greater in size than you." A bluff, perhaps, as his brothers were barely bigger than Thor. They were young yet though, likely to sprout up.

Fandral seemed surprisingly unshaken by the event, or he would have if his cheeks weren't flushed red with shame and frustration. "Aye, Jotun, you win." He grumbled, shoving Loki's staff away easily, ignoring the carefully placed neutral look on Loki's face.

Volstagg grinned after a moment of silence. "You just had your arse handed to you... By a boy half your size. Hey, Loki, think you could teach me to do that?" The sudden kind attention had Loki flushing and fumbling a little with his staff.

"I could try. To be quite frank, I was surprised I pulled it off." The green eyed Frost giant all but murmured, running a hand over his forehead.

Thor had watched the whole scene with a mix of amusement and curiosity on his face. Fandral often reserved this kind of brash behavior to newcomers, fighting with the light, inattentive hand he kept for unimportant duels of petty honor. He was, during those times, always too impulsive, and the Jotun had obviously taken advantage of that. Still, it wasn't luck that had made the prince win, and Thor wondered for a moment how exactly did the sons of Laufey train in their ice fortress?

Volstagg, obviously amused by Fandral demise, had this careless, content spark in his eyes as he spoke to the Jotun. Behind him, Hogun had stayed silent, his usual dark mask on his features. Thor threw him a questioning look, and only got as an answer a small shaking of the head. Thor knew that, of the Warriors Three, he had been the most affected by the war with Jotunheim, his hometown destroyed when the Aesir had retreated back into the lands of Asgard to prepare the offensive that would subsequently lead them to victory. Thor didn't know how he now felt about the alliance with Jotunheim, as Hogun never voiced his opinion unless he was asked to. There was nothing he could decipher in his friend's dark brown eyes and it made him uneasy. He still shrugged it off, choosing instead to turn to the Jotun, something that might have been a smirk on his mouth.

"I was afraid that my betrothed was to be a weakling, cowardly little ice man, but it seems that you have received quite the training in Jotunheim and are a worthy companion in battle. Fight me, as I want to see for myself how talented you are."

Volstagg's laughing smile seemed to instantly disappear as Thor spoke, and Sif lost her usual cool, unmoving expression to give him a disapproving look. They were used to Fandral's antics but Thor was usually more level-headed. What if they were seen fighting? What kind of horrible gossip would spread if they did? What if word got to the Allfather? Thor didn't care, didn't want to care. He picked up Fandral's sword on the ground, and walked up to the boy, eyed lingering for a moment on the spear her held in his small, girly hands.

"Loki Laufson, will you fight me?"

Loki was startled at Thor's words, but held himself proudly, his eyes narrowing just a little when Thor came close. Weakling? Cowardly? The words stung and made Loki purse his lips momentarily. How could Thor think Laufey would send his youngest son into the lion's den without training him? Loki may not know as much as his brothers or the most experienced warriors, but he knew plenty enough to keep himself safe. He could hear Thor's friends trying to convince him not to do this, not to chance such a dangerous move as fighting his intended and upsetting the Allfather. But Loki found himself unwilling to back down. This was the moment that he would prove himself to Thor, to prove that he could survive in this realm.

"Aye, Thor, I will fight you."

He found himself more nervous about this fight, more so than he was about Fandral randomly swinging his sword. Because he had seen Thor fight, he knew there would be no impulsive, easily manipulated moves. It would be all cold, calculating moves.

He got into his ready position, watching wearily as Thor came closer. The first swing of the sword was testing, and easily blocked with his staff, green eyes meeting blue.

And that's when all hell broke loose.

Thor was testing him, his blows firm, confident, and Loki was just doing his best to block, dash to the side, and get his own thrusts in. It quickly became apparent that he was out matched when Thor managed to cut him, right across his left cheek. His fingers went up automatically to touch the cut, his fingers coming back a little red. He gave a nod, to Thor, getting back into position. But this time when Thor moved to strike, Loki turned, the green orb in the center of the staff head glowing. When sword met the gold of the staff, the spell activated, the soles of Thor's shoes tuning to stone, slowing him down enough for Loki to move and give Thor a returning Nick across his cheek, a smirk across his face.

Thor made a growling sound, wiping away the blood from his cheek. He kicked off his now useless shoes, looked at the boy with a grin. There was challenge in the green of his irises, mischief in the corner of his mouth. Magic wasn't something he had ever practiced seriously, never getting himself to properly learn anything that could be used in the battlefield. While Asgard has its share of sorcerers, most of the Aesir did not have the same affinity with magic as the Jotuns or the Vanirs. It was, once again, through the tip of its sword that Asgard had made itself the most powerful of the Nine Realms. The prince had made a mistake by adding magic to their present duel; Thor had always liked a challenge.

Now barefoot on the grass, he forgot about the calculated, softer blows he had used so far, swinging the sword without restraint as the Jotun pared with growing difficulties. He nevertheless kept on fighting with the will of a warrior, and Thor found himself a few times blocking at the very last moment the elaborate tip of his spear. He missed the handle of his war hammer, the weight of it in his palm. The fight would have been a shorter one, has he been armed with his weapon of choice.

The Jotun prince was growing tired, it showed in his face, now devoid of any emotion, only observing the movements of his blows. A single drop of blood ran down his cheek, and Thor couldn't help but to smile at the sight of the boy's serious expression, his thin eyebrows frowned and his lips twisted from the effort. He was no fighter in body but he had the spirit, Thor had to give him that.

It took him one last, forceful assault to disarm his adversary, whose spear fell on the ground with a clinking sound. Thor made a satisfied smile, dropping his own sword on the grass, placing his large hand on his bony shoulder.

"You're a good fight, sorcerer. I might want you to teach me one or two of your magic tricks, you nearly had me there."

He laughed a real, honest laugh. The tension he had accumulated for days, listening to Father's orders and the useless chatter of politics, seemed to have suddenly disappeared. He felt lighter, looked over his shoulder to give Fandral a shit-eating grin. His companion rolled his eyes, the first to walk up to them to get his weapon back.

"Thanks for the sword." Thor said, still smug from his victory.

"You might be able to beat our little prince here, but wait until the banquet for your seventeenth year, and I shall out-drink you to Muspelheim and back!"

"Please don't. No maiden of Asgard will come, knowing they would have to face the advances of the great Fandral drunk out of his head."

Sif's voice was calm, but the look she gave Thor clearly showed her anger at his impulsivity. She stopped behind him, Volstagg and Hogun following her. The smack that hit the back of his head did not feel good.

"You're idiots. Both of you." She frowned, looking at the two princes. "I hope you'll get yourself good excuses to explain those marks on your cheeks."

"Very passionate coupling, maybe?" Fandral artistically avoided Sif's blow. He had obviously grown used to do it in the last few days.

Thor shrugged, his expression turned serious as he suddenly remembered his future marriage with the son of Laufey. He looked at him, sighed. It was hard, for the fraction of that specific instant, to remind himself that the strange little boy with his long black hair and paper-white skin was in fact a Jotun. He hadn't felt that way when he had fought him, at it made his stomach twist in an odd way to think about it.

"We'll keep it quiet, don't worry. The duel, not the... Fandral's ridiculous idea." He said to Sif without looking at her, his voice somehow weary.

Loki had fought hard, and despite his desperate want to win and prove himself, he found he didn't quite mind being disarmed, the laugh and compliment he earned worth the fatigue he felt. He hadn't ever really caught someone like that. His companions in Jotunheim could have knocked him over with a flick of a wrist. It was nice to spar against someone who he was almost even with.

He grinned at the taller prince, the hand on his shoulder friendly and assuring, a welcome weight to the normally skittish boy. "Most of them are quite easy. But you have to be careful when using them, if you don't put the right amount of energy into a spell, it could backfire, to the opponent's advantage." Loki explained happily, wiping that bead of blood off his face with a clean cloth, normally used for polishing weapons, then offering the clean side of the cloth for Thor to do the same.

When Fandral came up with the rest of the group, boasting about his drinking and earning a smart remark, Loki smiled at the other warrior, feeling at ease and accepted for the first time since arriving in Asgard. That is, until Sif came forward and reminded both of them of their situation. He picked up his staff slowly, carefully leaning on it as the group debated on what to do with their cheeks. Fandral's suggestion had a slight blush rising on his fair cheek bones, but was otherwise ignored as he moved in front of Thor, examining the cut. It wasn't very deep, nor long, it shouldn't scar...

His hand was out before he realized, a faint blue aurora of magic tingling as he set his hand on Thor's cheek. He ran his thumb carefully over the cut and as his thumb moved, the skin healed seamlessly after it, until the slight red smear of blood was all that showed of the injury. Giving a little nod, he pulled back and did the same to his own cheek, feeling the magic tingle across his skin as everything was healed. "There. No cover-ups required." He said with a smug smirk. Despite being brought back to reality, he felt more at ease with the small group, and couldn't help but notice Thor seemed more relaxed around him as well. The other's shoulders had lost the constant stiffness, his expression far more relaxed, and to be quite honest, Loki would have given his magic to hear that laugh or see that easy going smile again. It had brought a small feeling in his stomach that he dared not examine, for fear of what he may find.

He turned to Thor his head inclining respectfully. "I enjoyed our match, regardless. I may be lesser than you in strength, but you and Fandral are the first that I could face without asking you to hold back in fear for my life." He murmured, mirth shining in his green eyes and lacing his gentle tone. "It is late in the morning, perhaps we could breakfast together? My lessons are not until midday." He offered, making Volstagg perk up immediately.

"I could definitely go for a good meal!" He agreed heartily, slapping Loki on the back and forcing an "Omph!" from the boy. "Come! Tell me how you came upon such moves to derail Fandral!"

Thor, as they made their way back to the palace, stayed mostly silent. Volstagg led the group, closely followed by Fandral, obviously impatient to have a proper meal, as he would have said. The conversation going on between the two seemed to have taken an absurd turn, something about their last travel to Svaltarfaheim and the quality of the particular mix of spices in food they had been offered there. The Jotun (Loki, Thor tried to correct himself. His name was Loki.) walked behind them, not really talking, just listening to the sparring of words with a small, genuine smile on his face. Thor looked at him, unconsciously raising his hand and touching the un-bruised skin of his cheek. He could still feel the tingling feeling of magic healing the scratch, the soft tips of cold fingers. He gritted his teeth, remembering his obligations as future king of Asgard.

"I don't trust him." Hogun said, his voice low. Thor had forgotten he had been walking next to him the whole time. He checked if the four, a dozen of meters in front of them, could hear. They hadn't turned around, so he felt at ease to speak freely.

"Neither do I, but he hasn't tried to murder me in my sleep yet." He answered simply. Hogun frowned, giving him one of his serious, grim looks. He did not often voice his thoughts and the fact that he just did convinced Thor of the gravity of his concern. He understood, somehow. The machinations of king Laufey had often been of the treacherous kind, and it would have been no surprise to find out that he would use his own son to perform the lowest acts in the name of Jotunheim. Still, it was hard to believe that such small a boy could do any real harm inside the walls of Valhalla, even with the training he had received and his abilities as a sorcerer.

They were about to enter the palace when Thor heard the light voice of the Vanir ambassador calling his name. It truly a surprise to see him here, as he had not attended the court in the last few days, sending elegant but pressing messages in the name of the queen Freyja to excuse his absence. He seemed to nearly dance as he walked, dressed as always in the finest clothes, his tall, somehow feminine form moving his calculated flowing movements. He bowed as he met the group, addressing his salutations first to Sif, as it was the Vanir fashion to talk to the women first.

"I present my excuses to the lady Sif and her companions, but I have a private message of the utmost importance to transmit to the prince Thor of Asgard, if he wishes to follow me and continue this conversation in private. Please forgive the brashness of my demand, but the message I have to deliver comes directly from the prince Freyr."

Thor raised an eyebrow, surprised. It wasn't an habitual thing for him to receive messages from foreign dignitaries without them first passing by Father. He gave turned his eyes toward Sif, her own face just as intrigued as his own. This was odd, he couldn't help but to think. He didn't feel the same resentment for the Vanir as most Asgardian still felt, years after the war that had opposed the two realms, but the ways of the queen and her brother used words and gestures to win wars always made him feel some sort of uneasiness while dealing with envoys from Vanaheim. He nodded, turned to the ice prince, deposing a kiss on the back of his hand. Father had been clear on the image he needed to convey to the court and Thor had learnt in the last few days to slip into his role like if it had been a second skin.

"Excuse me, I shall leave you for the morning. We'll see each other in the evening."

On these words, he left with the ambassador, giving one last look over his shoulder to Hogun, who stayed behind the rest of the group, his expression neutral, even though there was this anxious look on his face. Thor didn't trust Jotuns, didn't trust the Vanir. He had; once again, been reminded of the twisted, sneaky ways of diplomacy and politics, and how lost he was between the different parties that fought that silent war between the walls of Valhalla.

Loki was genuinely surprised how Volstagg and Fandral had accepted him so easily... Well perhaps not excepted, but they spoke with him, listened when he put in his own two pieces on the subjects they spoke of, and allowed him to walk close. It was not til the Vanir called for Thor that he even noticed the young man's absence. He watched the proceedings quietly, curiously, but he accepted the words and press of lips to the back of his hand with a slow bow of his head. "Of course. Good Day, Thor." He murmured in return, surprising himself. This was the first time he actually used the other's name. With his position and all, Loki had been unsure of what to call the other Prince, and had cleverly danced around the subject for some time. This time, the name had escaped before he could even think about it.

"Fear not, little giant, we'll have a fine time without your intended." Volstagg assured with a laugh, waving a large hand as Thor left them.


	5. Chapter 4 ish: Feeling Blue

So, i sort of realized this is less of a chapter and more of a start of awkward fluff xDD I hope you enjoy anyway!

Chapter Fourish: Feeling Blue

It was a fine time, Sif had left the three at some point, but Loki found himself swept up in the talk of the warriors and the tales they had to tell. They even asked once or twice about his homeland, especially as they were eating and they caught Loki eating so carefully and daintily. "So unlike the warrior we saw fighting out there!" Fandral had laughed, and Volstagg had proceeded to ask about the types of food they had in Jotun. It was very nice, to talk of his homeland with someone who would listen about its good qualities, though Loki found himself yearning for his home more so than ever by the time they had finished.

He bade his new acquaintances a good day before going back to his and Thor's room, with the intention of putting his staff away. But very soon, he found himself sitting by the window and digging an old fur from his bag. A large strip of his bedding and even the feel of the soft lily white pelt had him closing his eyes. His fingers grew cool as he spelled the fur to be the cool temperature of Jotun before he pressed it to his face, inhaling the familiar scents of the eternal snow, of the purifying incense burned by the priests, of the small waxen candles he used to read by. He could even detect the scent of his sister's perfume, from her coming to wake him or spraying him with it in jest.

He wanted nothing more at that moment than to be back in his room, listening to the cool wind, waking up for lessons to his sister's smiling face and his brothers' laughing voices. Thinking of it had tears threatening in the corners of his eyes. He had been so busy, attending his new lessons and meetings that were necessary, that he ended up coming back to these rooms to exhausted to think of his home.

And now, with a moment to spare, he felt the loss, the true rip of being torn from his home land. He wept silently into the fur, imagining what his family may have been doing. His brothers would be training, were they missing his presence? The way he sat with wide eyes watching as they blocked each other's blades and fought to get the other to give up. Was his sister missing their reading sessions together on the steps to the court yard? Did his father, caught up in politics and avoiding the war, even notice the loss of a son?

He made a strange, strangled noise at the thought, something deep, guttural, and very obviously Jotun, a sentence following, as if he were speaking to his family. No, he did not know Jotun well, but he knew enough to hold a conversation - barely.

It took a little effort, but Loki finally calmed himself, though he couldn't hold back the quiet hiccups his body gave as he dried his eyes, holding the fur tenderly. He had to go to lessons soon, he knew that, but for the first time, he wanted to do nothing more than sit in this window with his last piece comfort in his hands.

While Loki battled with his emotions, Thor was having his own problems.

The prince Freyr knew how to surround himself with people of quality and, Kvasir, great traveler, talented poet and elegant diplomat, was one of them. He spoke with the exact right amount of truth and lies, crafted sentences like a smith would craft a sword. He was good, and his piercing blue eyes made Thor feel like he was getting inspected like some sort of exotic, foreign creature. He walked back to the palace exhausted, his head spinning with ideas and the soft, western accent of the Vanir ambassador. He stopped for a few second before entering the palace, blinked as he looked at the sun. It was too late to join his companions, so he chose to go back to his rooms before this afternoon's hunt with Father and his counselors, to change and clean himself. He needed to think over the Vanir's carefully weighted words, the subtext dancing on the tip of his tongue without ever escaping his lips.

Should he ever want to contest Father and escape his actual arranged marriage, he was assured the help of Freyr of Vanaheim and his sister, had he said, his words never explicit but somehow still crystal clear to Thor's ears.

The walk back to his apartments felt like a dream. Thor had accepted Father's will without questioning it forever, and only listening to the proposition the ambassador had made him felt like a betrayal. He wanted it to be over, true, but he was no traitor. His thoughts torturing him, he pushed open the doors of his rooms in one ample movement.

"Wasn't it Vanaheim's due, according to tradition, to have one of its own next to the throne of Asgard, after all? Queen Freyja did make the choice never to marry, but this is a detail that can surely be worked over with the help of her brother." whispered the voice of Kvasir in the back of his head. "Between the legendary beauty of the queen of Vanaheim and the heir of Laufey, a choice is easily made, isn't it?"

Thor made a sound of discomfort, letting himself fall on one of the seats of his parlor. Politics tired him to no end, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to report his encounter to Father as he should have. A part of him wanted to follow the Vanir's advice, to show loudly his displeasure and go against the wishes of Father. The nights he had spent on pillows instead of a real bed started to make his spine ache.

It's only when the storm of his own thoughts calmed itself that he heard it, the softs muffled sounds of someone crying. He instantly jumped to his feet, looking around, identifying the source of the sound to his own bedroom. Wasn't the prince of Jotunheim supposed to be with the Warrior Three and Sif? Then who had entered his room without his permission?

Cautious, he armed himself with a fire poker, entered the room as silently as he could. The hardwood floor creaked softly under the sole of his boots. He stopped.

It surprised him, really. The son of Laufey, since his arrival, had kept on this meek, unshakable mask in front of everyone. It had only slipped once to reveal a glimpse of what Thor guessed was the true Loki Laufson, earlier this morning when he had fought him, that small, little glimpse of challenge in his green eyes. It had been subtle, nearly invisible, but Thor had known. However, this, right now, was a surprise.

"... Loki?"

There really wasn't anything else he could say, and the syllables sounded foreign on the tip of his tongue. He wondered for the fraction of an instant how the named sounded in Jotun. He stayed there, frozen, unsure as to how to interpret what he saw, how to react to it.

The boy was crying, his face burrowed in something Thor recognized as a fur pelt. His small form crunched up on the bed had this pathetic impression stuck to it, like a wounded animal. Thor felt something ache in his chest, and he couldn't get himself to properly name it. Pity? Compassion? Sympathy? None of it could properly describe what made him take a step forward, raise his hand to touch the fur the boy had been holding so close to his own chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, not that he knew what was actually happening, or that he actually had done anything he thought was wrong. It just felt like the right thing to say.

Unaware of Prince Thor's plight, and having canceled his lessons for the day, Loki was content to lie on the bed and curl around his bit of fur, his face pressed firmly into the cool, soft pelt. He hadn't been able to help the way that soft sobs were soon escaping his lips again. So wound up in his own misery, he had never expected or even heard Thor come into the room, and didn't take notice of the young man until his name was said. He froze at the sound of that gentle voice, a voice that he had often heard booming through the halls like thunder before a storm, yet here it was, whispering to him, sounding almost concerned.

Loki was afraid to look up. One of the reasons he had tried so hard not to let these feelings well up was to show Thor and the others that he could be strong, he could be brave, without being a trained war-veteran. Now look at him, cheeks and eyes red from tears, curled up like a child with his blanket after a nightmare. Oh how he wished it was only a nightmare.

When he felt Thor's war, fingers touch the fur, he forced himself to look up, tear filled green eyes meeting those confused blue ones. The apology startled Loki; after all, the prince had done nothing, and had no reason to offer any apologies. "T-tis not your doing," Loki offered with a slight hitch in his breath, wiping his eyes quickly, the fur still cradled in his deft, dainty hands.

"Volstagg and Fandral... They were asking me questions... I-I began thinking of home... And my family..." He didn't know why he felt the need to explain himself to the other, but he found himself doing so, his eyes downcast, their rapt attention focused on his own hands.

Thor felt weird, looking at the prince crying his heart out, the same prince he had seen so calm and controlled during the last few days. The boy missed home, the ice palace of the terrible king of the Snowlands, and Thor wondered for a moment what Jotunheim looked like, what had happened to the frozen city of the songs of his ancestors after the armies of Father had stormed the capital. How hard the court there reacted to the alliance? Did the Jotuns felt the same disgust for the Aesir than the Aesir felt for the Jotuns? If they did, the boy hadn't let it show, not one bit. There hadn't been anything but calm indifference in his eyes whenever people cast on him looks of hatred, something that might have looked like arrogance to some, diplomacy to others. Had their places been reversed, Thor would have broken out and tried to escape long ago. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he wished the Jotun, trapped in his disguise as an Aesir, did the same.

He hesitantly moved his hand on Loki's shoulder, frowning. He had often cheered his companions, remembered the thankful look on Sif's face when she had been promised to a man she despised and he had told her that she was strong, that she could fight like the warrior she was. The same energy didn't seem to animate him now, and all he felt was uneasiness and some sort of unnamed sadness.

He stayed silent, sat on the edge of the bed, feeling uncomfortable and inadequate. There was something... Something endearing in the way the boy's shoulders shuddered with each of his sobs, He cast his eyes aside, ashamed, and Thor very nearly raised his hand to wipe out the tears that striped his milky white cheeks. He stopped half-way, his palm falling on the soft bed. A sigh escaped his lips.

"Listen, I... I know that it must be hard and... If I could find a way for you to go back home to see your family, I would do it. I can't do that, but I guess we can try to make it as good as we can for the both of us."

He tried to smile, but he didn't know if it would work. It was better than nothing.

"After all, a true nobleman of Asgard cannot let his betrothed be a prey to sadness."

Loki did his best to straighten himself as Thor set a hand on his shoulder, but to no avail. No matter how many times he ran his hand over his eyes, the tears kept falling and his shoulders didn't stop shaking. It was embarrassing; he wished silently that the prince hadn't found him. His eyes were still trained on his hands, even as Thor sat beside him. In reality, he knew he couldn't run. If he ran, it would be a start of another war for Jotunheim and Loki knew his homelands would never survive that. It was out of the question, with how many they had lost in the last war, they were still trying to rebuild. Besides that, where would he go? Hiemdall would not take him back to his home, he would have to hide in Asgard. It wouldn't bode well for him.

Oh yes, he had thought hard about this, searching for any way out.

And no, he felt no ill will towards Aesir. In truth, after the war, he has been raised against the common hate. After all, he'd just been a baby when the war ended, it had been easy to raise him without hate. It had always confused him though, when the delegates in his father's court raged and acted in anger against the Aesir, because he was raised not to see them with hate.

He finally looked up when Thor began to speak, his green eyes meeting those blue ones. The Aesir prince tried to smile, actually smiled at Loki. The young Jotun managed a teary smile and a halfhearted laugh. "You don't have to pretend to like me. I know how unwelcome I am, and I do not blame you for seeing me in such a way." it was true, some of the Jotun people were barbaric, but not all of them, and he was not like them.

The prince's words echoed in his mind though, and Loki found himself believing them. After all, Thor did not want him here anymore than Loki wanted to be here, but perhaps it was more than that. He doubted it, but something deep in his heart wanted to believe that Thor didn't hate him completely.

The boy dabbed his eyes again before finally releasing the fur, placing it back in his bag. "Sorry, I'm fine." he managed straightening himself, giving one last sniff. "Perhaps my tutors are still in the library."

Thor bit his lips as Loki prepared himself to leave. He didn't know what to say, couldn't get his head to form a coherent thought. It had made his stomach twitch in a way he wasn't sure he wanted to fully understand to look at him like this, trying so hard to act like nothing happened. Had he cried like this, last night and all the other nights, when Thor was asleep? How hard was it for him to keep it together like this, in front of everyone? Did Thor really want to simply "pretend to like him" for the rest of their life together?

He remembered Kvasir's words, and a sharp pang of guilt made his ribs ache. He hadn't really thought of Loki as an actual person up until now, and it felt weird. The annulation of the wedding would obviously have consequences for him, for the better or for the worst he couldn't predict. He knew nothing of the Jotun ways, how they would treat the boy if he came back home empty handed. What if defying Father was, ultimately, the best way for him to get him back home? The more he got to know Loki, the more he felt like he had been wrong the whole time about Jotunheim, about King Laufey and about the Frost Giants. He gritted his teeth.

The prince was about to leave when Thor suddenly leaped toward him, grabbed his arm as a last attempt to save a tiny little bit of time, to get him to understand that, no matter how it looked, he would go ahead and try. He stayed silent for a moment, trying to find something, anything, in Loki's placid green eyes. He didn't know if he could ever get himself to love him the way Father expected him to, but he knew that he couldn't bring himself to hate him, not after seeing him like this, not while knowing his strength both as a warrior and a person.

"Please believe me when I say I'll try my best to make it better for you. You have my word."

Loki couldn't help stiffening a little when Thor jumped up at him, remaining still as his arm was clutched. He met the stare willingly, despite the fact he could still feel the redness and wetness in them. The words hit him and sunk in easily in the time Thor was holding him, and slowly, Loki brought his hand to touch Thor's on his arm. "I know you will, Thor... And thank you for this..." It was amazing, how one day had switched the prince's view, but Loki wasn't complaining. It was nice, to have Thor treating him as a person, rather than something he scraped off his boot after a hunt.

He gave the large hand a gentle squeeze before leaning over where Thor still sat on his bed, brushing a chaste kiss against the older teen's brow, similar to the ones that Thor pressed to his hands. "I must leave, but I will rejoin you this evening." The Jotun gently squeezed Thor's hand before moving it off his arm. He made it to the door before he glanced back and again, murmured, "Thank you, Thor." before he truly left.


	6. Chapter 5: Beginning to Coexist

With the setting of the sun, came the end to Loki's day. Carefully he balanced a small pile of books on a tray he charmed. It floated behind him lazily while he alternated from reading the leather bound poem book and the book of magic he had in his arms. It was quite fascinating, the Aesir had several books on physical and mental exercises that improved magic flow and the ease of certain spells. It was amazingly helpful, but the poems were beautiful, flowing easily in the elven tongue.

Loki had been lucky to find his tutors still in the library and had practically begged for lessons, anything to escape Thor for a while. It wasn't so much Thor he had been hiding from, but the fact that the prince had seen him so weak.

His lessons had kept him quite busy, not to mention, Volstagg and Fandral actually stayed behind from the hunt to help train Loki physically trained. He had a feeling they had been asked by the Allfather, but they didn't seem to upset, or if they were, they hid it well, practicing their thrusts and parries and keeping Loki fast on his toes to avoid being hit. Long story short, Loki was exhausted as he finally opened the doors to his and Thor's chambers.

"Good evening. A good hunt I hope?" he asked, hearing someone shuffling about, though he had yet to glance up from his books, mouthing the incantation for a certain spell. When he finally looked up and saw his golden headed betrothed, he managed a soft smile, "You are quite welcome to reclaim your bed if you wish. You must be more exhausted than I. I should study for tomorrow's lessons. I picked up a few books on archery and swordsmanship, seeing as I am to be trained in those areas as well." Despite things still being a little tense around Thor, he found himself more relaxed than ever around him, today's events truly changing both of their views, if only slightly.

Thor just gave a grunt as Loki entered. He hadn't been very focused today, catching nothing and earning himself playful remarks from a few of the counselors. He shrugged them off with a smile, silently cursing the generals of Father and their meaningless politics. He couldn't help but to feel his ears ring with ideas and possibilities, his thoughts on the other side of the Nine Realms, in Jotunheim, in Vanaheim. Freyr and his machinations, Father and his own, the vanquished traitor king Laufey, and the terrible Casket of Ancient Winters. He touched his forehead with tips of his fingers, frowned, remembering Loki's lips. It had felt weird. There was something effeminate in his ways, how soft his voice was, how each of his moves had this eerie feel to them. Thor couldn't decide for himself if it pleased or annoyed him. Even as the prince of Jotunheim proved himself to be no threat to the realm, Thor could still hear the small whispers in his head, warning him to be wary of that apparent calmness.

Before he could do anything about, an argument between the head of Asgard's armies and the treasurer of the realm broke, once again on the subject of the alliance. The sun was setting, Father nowhere in sight, and Thor respected a diplomatic silence as the horses walked back to the castle grounds. Those politicians, counselors, schemers were sorely mistaken if they thought that they could make any difference once the Allfather had made his mind up.

He came back to his rooms late, hungry and tired, not from the hunt but for the incessant buzzing of his conflicted mind. He hadn't told Father, wouldn't tell him. It weighted on his shoulders, and he only wanted to sleep in his own bed, only for tonight.

The proposal of the prince seemed out of place. Thor made a face. He felt stuck between his wish for a nice, comfortable bed and the rules of hospitality. He should have refused, but the idea of sleeping in his own covers was too strong. He sighed.

"Listen... I can't let you just sleep on the ground like that, and there enough room for the both of us..."

He made a dismissing gesture of the hand. He somehow felt more relaxed around the boy than before, like some heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The impression only lasted for an instant; he remembered Kvasir's proposal, and his heart sank.

"Just don't worry about me, that is all. I'll take the right side and you the left, if that's good for you."

On these words, he disappeared into his room and proceeded to get undressed and wash his face with the water freshly brought in a large pitcher by the servants. He took off his shirt in front of the mirror, threw it on the ground and splashed his face with his hands. The coldness of the water made his skin itch in a pleasant way and the voices in his head grew silent for a moment. He let himself fall on the bed, a growl of contentment escaping his lips. He was too tired to get himself up to call a late dinner, too tired to properly change into his night clothes, only laying there, shirtless, over his covers. The feeling of an actual bed under his back was too much, and he fell asleep without even knowing it.

Loki had accepted the decision to share the bed easily, after all, on most nights; he usually curled in the left hand corner and slept that way, leaving the large bed open and mostly unused. It seemed that Thor was too exhausted to bother debating the idea any more, and by the time Loki came in to the bedroom, Thor was already asleep, his soft breathing filling the room as Loki sat his books on the desk.

He took the time he had to examine the warrior, who looked more relaxed in sleep than Loki had ever seen him. Golden shoulder length hair was slicked slightly, oil and sweat from the day and water from the basin plastered a few strands to that handsome face, where the beginnings of a beard were showing. He couldn't help but think back to the talks he had with Frigga. The woman assured him that her son just needed a little time. He will get used to it, she assured; he'll come to know you.

Perhaps today was only proof of the woman's wise words, Loki thought as he gently stroked away a wet piece of Thor's golden hair, before moving to wash his own face. He changed quickly, trying not to think of the future that he would spend. Thor would turn seventeen in only a few short weeks, after that, they would be wed, likely before Loki even turned sixteen.

He shone his head roughly, trying to dispel the thoughts that were threatening to overcome his mind as he slid into his side of the bed, curling against the pillow. He would cross each bridge as he met it, he had to take things just one step at a time.

Sometime during the night, Loki turned and met Thor in the middle of the bed, his subconscious mind all too happy to nuzzle up to him. The warm smell of the sun penetrated his dreams as he did so, tucking his head beneath Thor's chin. He realized, somewhere, in the furthest corner of his mind, that he really should move away, but the warmth of the Asgardian convinced him not to, and before long, he was deep in sleep again, even as the sun began to rise.

The ancestors used to say that dreams were the gateway to the gods. The chants talked of brave warriors battling the shadows of their minds, of proud men getting crushed under the weight of their own nightmares.

That night, Thor dreamed of frozen cities and foreign lands, the icy bite of the cold against his skin and the weight of wolf skins on his shoulders. He remembered Jotunheim, the small little glimpse of it he had seen when he had been there, the Jotuns. He killed them, every single one of them, trapped in the red, devouring fire of the Berserker, laughing and screaming as he did. It felt weird, like he couldn't control his own body, and suddenly the demons of the Snowlands weren't demons anymore, they were himself, and he kept fighting his doubles, seeing his own face contort in pain as he broke their bones. He felt his own body bleed and break under the blows of his hammer, the force of his fists.

The nightmare didn't last. Thor woke up sharply, his head still spinning from the fury of the Berserk. The sun was already high up in the sky and pierced shyly through the heavy curtains that hung at his windows. He blinked, becoming slowly aware of his surroundings. Then, reality hit him, hard.

Loki's hair smelled of pinecones with a faint hint of salt water. It was an oddly nice mix, so different than the usual flowery scent maiden of Asgard put all over their golden locks. With his head over his chest and his small, nibble fingers possessively wrapped around his larger hand, he looked like a scared child. His own arm had slipped around the boy's shoulders, and Thor gave it a guilty look, his eyebrows furrowed. He passed his free palm over his face, made an uneasy smile. Everything felt so surreal, and yet he knew he wasn't dreaming. Yesterday had been an eventful day, and, for a moment, it felt like a lifetime had passed since the day he had met Loki in the icy lands of Jotunheim. He hesitated for an instant between waking the boy or simply leave without a word. The cold touch of the prince's fingertips made him somehow uncomfortable, in a way Thor didn't feel like to fully interpret.

His own train of thought made him wince. Thor, son of Odin, was no blushing virgin, and he would be damned to Helheim if he acted like one. A low sound escaped his closed lips and he closed his eyes once again. He couldn't just go back to sleep, but he didn't want to wake Loki and have one of those long, uncomfortable silences they had shared during the last few days.

Thor turned his head toward the window. He was very probably late to today's boring and obligatory lesson with the tutors Mother had chosen for him. He had never liked the way Elvish sounded, to sly, hissing sound of its consonants, had never got himself to do more than mumble it whenever he was asked to. He preferred the Old Language, the Asgardian his ancestors spoke and in which were written the epics relating their fights all across the Nine Realms. He gave Loki another look. Maybe, maybe he could allow himself to fall asleep once again or -

"Thor! That awful Vanir magister made us read one of those idiotic stories from that crazy philosopher from Alfenheim ! Where were- Oh."

Fandral, followed by Sif, the doorknob still in his hand, stopped half-way. His expression, first surprised, turned into a grin. Thor wished for the fraction of an instant he had had his hammer with him to throw at his companion's face.

"I hope for you that the legends about the Jotuns aren't true and that he hasn't chopped off your manhood in the throes of passion."

Since coming to the great realm of Asgard, Loki had not been blessed with dreams, his sleep filled only with a slight floating feeling, perhaps a mix of muddled colors and voices. In his home land, his dreams were often brief glimpses into the future, though they were never long enough for him to try and predict as his mother had once done. He usually saw a brief flash of scenery, or the eyes of someone he may or may not meet, never full scenes as his mother once had. "The future is always changing." One of his tutors had explained, "Until you can push past the brief glimpses you see at night, you will never see what is to be."

This night was the first night he actually had a flash of dreams. It was no more than a golden haired child amidst a sea of green. She was laughing, her dazzling green eyes full of mirth and spirit. Loki could see her running, running towards him and calling something, but no matter how he strained, he could not hear her.

As suddenly as the vision appeared, it was gone again, leaving Loki in that comfortable floating state. He could feel the steady thumping of Thor's heart beneath his cheek, feel his breath against his head, but he could hardly bring himself to care. Sleep - as unfamiliar as it seemed now - was a comforting experience. If the other prince was uncomfortable, he would move. In fact, he was sure he felt Thor shifting already. Perhaps it was time for his early morning training? Loki couldn't have told the time even if he wanted to.

He didn't truly wake until he heard a loud, unfamiliar voice burst into the room. It startled him, and before he could stop it, a tingle of magic flowed through him, an invisible force pinning Fandrall roughly to the door as Loki struggled into consciousness. His green eyes snapped open, glowing slightly from his recent use of magic, and he looked up, silently judging the situation. How upset would Thor be from him sleeping this way? Or Fandrall from being pinned so rudely against the door. Sif didn't seem too upset, simply a little befuddled and amused at her friend's outcome. "That's what you get for barging in like that." She snorted.

Loki sat up quietly, glancing for a long moment at Thor before moving to retrieve Fandrall. "You're lucky I didn't perceive you as a thrrrr- aaahhh - threat." He yawned widely, releasing Thor's friend from the door before moving to fetch fresh clothes for the day, though his nightwear was firmly in place, thank you very much.

"If you'll excuse me," he managed, disappearing into the back changing room.

When the Jotun prince was out of sight, Sif finally turned her attention to Thor, her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. It was only yesterday that Thor had assured her he and Loki did not sleep in the same room. To find him like this, after asserting he really disliked the Jotun boy, was disconcerting to say the least.

Thor looked at Loki's form disappearing from the room. He gave Sif an apologetic look. "It's not what you think!" his eyes tried to say, and Sif only gave him that calm, unimpressed look. Things had happened in the last twenty-four hours, things he wasn't sure he wanted to talk about with her. He remembered Kvasir, and he bit his lower lip. He would have to take care of this whole thing sooner or later, and the inexorability of it all made his head ache.

"_You're lucky I didn't perceive you as a threat_." Fandral had spoken in a high-pitched, girly voice and Thor, suddenly dragged out of his thoughts, couldn't help but to note that the resemblance was indeed uncanny. "Well I hope he doesn't use that in bed against you."

Sif made no move to help him up, her arms securely crossed on her chest. Getting back on his feet, Fandral gave Thor a lazy grin, his right hand nonchalantly chasing away some invisible dust on his knee.

"What would the Allfather say if he knew that the little Jotun wife he gave his first born was in fact a most valorous conqueror in the bedroom !" he exclaimed dramatically, taking Sif's hand and placing a kiss on the back of her palm for emphasis. The sound he made as she hit him sounded somewhere between a choking sound and laugh.

Thor rolled his eyes. He propped himself up on the bed, gave a look at his clothes, sighed. He should have gotten himself to change yesterday before crashing on the bed.

"You're just jealous because this little Jotun wife of mine, as you might put it, has beaten you at your own little game."

"He uses magic! That's cheating!"

"He didn't when you dueled him. You were still defeated."

He smirked as Fandral pouted, getting himself out of bed. He rolled his shoulders, went for the mirror and the chest in which his clothes waited for him. He had skipped this morning's training and his whole body itched for a long ride through the woods or the weight of an axe or a long sword in his hands. Had it only been Fandral, he would have changed here, never caring too much about nudity, but no matter how hard Sif worked for everyone to perceive her as one of the boys, there were some little, small things that Thor could simply do in front of a lady, no matter how unwilling to be one she was. He took a shirt from the chest, passed it over his head. He looked at his own pants, still dirty from the hunt of yesterday. Oh well.

"Father hasn't called for me, has he?"

"No, we came here on our own. Volstagg had to leave yesterday in the evening. He'll be Vanaheim for the next few weeks; apparently they're having a problem with some of his father's shipments. The family business always comes first, you know. Hogun hasn't showed up."

Thor shrugged. Hogun did that. He wasn't a nobleman or very rich, only a promising warrior that had somehow gotten the attention of one of the heads of Asgard's army. He had never felt like he belonged to the castle's walls, and often left without a word for weeks on end. They had all grown used to it, his strength and wisdom making them often gloss over the peculiarities of his personality.

"I guess we'll go riding today then. I haven't been to Mirkwood in a long time, and it's only a thirty minutes ride from here."

Before Loki even re-entered the room, a burst of magic flowed out from the changing room, slamming into Fandral and dragging him into the air. The warrior gave a shriek fit for a maiden he was suddenly hung from the ceiling by his ankle. Loki smirked and came from the room, examining his handy work with an amused glint in his eye before washing his face, his hair let loose from the tight bun and usual braids. It was thick, long, and slightly flipped at the ends, reaching just below his hips.

"My voice is neither that squeaky nor annoying." He muttered, tucking his bangs behind his ears and straightening his handsome green tunic. He turned his eyes to Thor and Sif, offering a hesitant smile. "I wish you well on your ride." He murmured gently. He actually found himself wanting to go with them, if only to examine more of Asgard than the walls of Valhalla, but he dared not ask. After all, Thor likely wanted to get away from him for a while.

He gathered his books and began to leave before hearing Fandral yelp out. "Hey, you aren't planning on leaving me here, are you?!"

"Well, I should try to get some studying in, since I've over slept. Surely you can just hang around for a while?" Loki asked, amusement heavy in his voice.

"NO- Aiek!" The warrior screeched as he was dropped from the position, falling until he was a mere inch above the ground. Loki let him hover there for a minute before being gently set down.

"Just wait til we gates back out on the field, wifey, I went easy on you last time."

"Oh, that's why you ended up on your hind end with your sword flung so far you would have to sprint to retrieve it?"

"Yes!" The warrior snapped as he scrambled to his feet, looking ready to fight right there. Loki laughed, the gentle sound echoing slightly. "I've no interest in fighting, all mighty warrior. Especially not in the middle of these rooms."

"Fandral, stop being an idiot, or we'll just leave without you," Sif intervened, her iron grip around his arm.

Thor had watched the exchange with an amused expression on his face. Dueling with Fandral was a something that seemed almost like a game after a while, and Volstagg was the one with the most victories against him so far. Sif was second, always eager to defy him when his jokes about her feminity stepped a bit too far. She was now giving him a look of annoyance. She could tell Loki to stop using magic like it was some sort of toy to play with.

"Just take it outside, if you really wish to fight, although I hope you don't. I'd like to keep my rooms more or less tidy."

He scratched the top of his head, apologetic. While he was happy that his friends weren't reacting like the rest of Asgard, casting him looks of pity mixed with a hint a disgust, he kept remembering the weeping form on the bed last night and how different the Loki he saw today was. Thor hadn't been exactly nice to him and he wanted to make amends. The prince of Jotunheim had, in all sincerity, genuinely tried his best to be agreeable. Maybe it was Thor's turn to be a good person.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us ? I know you haven't ridden very often back in Jotunheim but it probably won't be too long, and the Mirkwood is really an impressive sight."

Fandral grinned brightly. "We're just having a bit o' fun. Don't get your knickers in a twist." He rather enjoyed the constant fighting and bickering. It kept him on his toes and energetic. He'd always seen it as sort of a game, even as a child. He took the hand from his arm and placed a teasing kiss on her knuckles, winking playfully and ducking as Thor asked Loki to join.

It surprised the young prince, to say the least. Loki had been sure that Thor would simply wish to enjoy his friends' company, instead of being forced to accompany his Jotun betrothed. "You... You would not mind?" He asked hesitantly, testing the situation gently, almost in the same way he ate his meals. He saw nothing but honesty in those blue eyes that watched him, so, Loki brought himself to nod slowly. "If it would not bother you, I would like to join." He finally murmured, setting his books back on the table.

"Well, if Thor wishes it!" Fandral grinned, brightly, clapping his hands together. "Come! It will be amusing, to see a Jotun ride!"

"I did just fine, coming over the bridge." Loki sniffed, moving to collect his notebook and a stick of charcoal instead, throwing the items into a bag before placing the strap on his shoulder. Sure, he had stumbled getting off the animal, but that was because his foot was caught in the strap. "Yeah, but riding over the rainbow bridge and riding to Mirkwood is a bit different." Fandral grinned, standing and moving to the door.

As Fandral and Sif led the ways to the stables, Loki was content to walk by Thor, his eyes trailing up to meet the warrior's. "Thank you." He murmured gently, honestly pleased he had been invited. It meant a lot. He knew the prince didn't exactly approve of Jotuns or of the bonding between their two kingdoms, but he definitely appreciated the fact that Thor was trying to get along with him now.

Thor raised an eyebrow. He had been distracted, thinking once again about Kvasir and Vanaheim and queen Freyja's gorgeous blond hair. He looked at Loki, his head still full of plans that couldn't work and the shadow of Father whispering "Traitor". He didn't want to think about it, not now, not with the prince he was to marry in a few weeks right next to him, but it kept coming back. His head was starting to hurt.

"You don't have to thank me for everything, you know. Besides, you might want to properly learn how to ride. You're lucky Snow is such an intelligent animal. Any other would have made you fall over when we crossed the rainbow bridge."

He chuckled. Riding had always been a bit of a second nature to him, even though he was in no way a talented cavalier like Fandral. It felt weird to know that someone of Loki's age had never learned to ride with an actual horse.

_He's a Jotun, remember, what did you expect ?_

Thor shook his head. Of course.

They arrived to the stables and Sif charged herself with bringing the horses. Fandral only needed to whistle for his usual horse, Eclipse, to arrive. He mounted the tall, black horse in one prompt movement, and Sif did the same shortly after. Her own horse was smaller, a white courser. Thor walked up to Lightning, tapping gently the side of its large neck. Snow was right beside him.

"You think you'll be alright?"

"I thought most horses were intelligent?" Loki asked gently, curiously as they approached the stables. He examined the way snow perked at the sight of them, nickering lightly and pawing at the earth. At least, the horses he had seen thus far were intelligent, very alert, obedient, and sweet, he decided as Snow nuzzled his hair as he came closer. He giggled, actually giggled, not the dignified laugh he usually gave, but a childish expression of joy. He couldn't help it.

"Hello to you too," Loki beamed, taking time to rub the gentle animal's neck and brush a few tangles out of his white mane. Another little huff and excited whiney was drawn from the animal as Loki patted his back, examining the saddle to make sure all the straps and everything were secure. He didn't want to fall off or hurt the animal after all.

"And I do have to thank you. You very well could have just left me alone, I really appreciate it."

Loki said softly, carefully moving into the saddle. "I've never seen anything other than my home in Jotunheim and your home. I... I'm really excited to go and explore somewhere."

"When you two lovebirds are finished saying sweet nothings to each other, maybe we could get going?"

Fandral's voice was mocking and Thor turned to him, sighed. Of course. He got up on his horse, leading the way, giving Loki one last glance, a half-smile on his face.

"We'll get going pretty soon. Try not to slow us down, Fandral."

And, on these words, he gave a gentle tug on Lightning's reins, sending the stallion running east. They were in for a good ride.

And for the first time in a long time, Loki felt at least a little at home as he laughed and raced with the others.

AN: Sorry this took so long! Leo and I have been increasingly busy with school and work schedules, but fear not! We shall carry on!

SPOILER ALERT:

We had a request for some kissing from a fan ;) Well in the next chapter you may just get your wish!

Comments and reviews are loved!


	7. Chapter 6: Celebrations

A.N. ATTENTION! ALL SHALL BE WELL IN ASGARD WILL BE MOVING TO AO3.

i love , I really do, but AO3 has way less restrictions. You can still leave me comments here and I may update once in a while, but AO3 will be my main account for this Story. /works/566222

The tale of two lovers. Belongs to art/The-Sad-Story-Of-Moon-And-Sun-200315812 and I can't find the poem source, but it isn't mine either.

The next week came and went without Thor really seeing them go. Without realizing it, he had grown used to wake up with Loki's sleeping form beside him, his hair unmade and his expression peaceful. Every time, for a fleeting moment, he could almost forget that the boy was a Jotun, a monster from the Snowlands and the ice palace in Jotunheim. They ate together, still silent, but somehow part of the awkwardness had lifted. Thor read the books his tutors made him read, sprawled on a chair in Mother's library, while Loki sat and carefully turned the pages of some large encyclopedia or epic about a long-forgotten war. Sometimes they didn't really see each other, Thor going his way and Loki his own, sometimes they stayed for hours together, in that light, relaxed silence they had grown to share.

Days were flying even faster for Loki as he worked to find his niche in his new home. Since the day Thor had found him crying, the two had shared a more comfortable coexistence. Thor hadn't told anyone of that moment, much to Loki's relief, he had been horrified, embarrassed and ashamed when Thor found him in such an undignified state, so much so that he had rushed to his tutors after canceling his studies and begged them for lessons. But the moment wasn't mentioned again, and things between them were indefinitely easier. They slept in the same bed, sometimes waking up curled against each other, as if plagued by nightmares and in need of comfort, other times they would wake up on opposite sides, facing each other. They didn't really speak when they woke together, but shared a long glance before they each moved to prepare for the day.

He trained with Thor and Sif in the mornings now, though he often left for sparring with Volstagg after a session of archery and softly spoken words and smiles. Loki had become fast friends with the large warrior, and was just as surprised as everyone else when he realized it. Volstagg was friendly, laughed easily, and seemed to appreciate his brand of humor and stories. If Thor was in counsel with his father and ambassadors, Loki could either be found in the library, out on the field, practicing his riding with Snow, or with Volstagg, laughing at one thing or another. The training he was receiving was starting to show in his movements. He was less awkward, more assured in his movements. He had even grown a bit taller and though he was still far shorter than Thor and almost anyone he met, he couldn't help but be proud of the fact.

Thor went to the council's meetings because Father asked to, as always, kept his mouth shut. The voices of the higher houses had grown more and more moderate about their desire to war on Jotunheim. The Allfather had stayed unbreakable and they slowly but surely aligned themselves with the will of their sovereign. The hardest to persuade were the northerners, who had been the one to lead the attack on Jotunheim and knew the best the ways of war. Thor looked at them over the table, thought of Kvasir. The ambassador of Vanaheim always found good excuses not to attend the court, excusing himself in long, elaborate missives he sent Father.

Thor hadn't told anyone about the bargain. Sometimes, without knowing why, he caught himself staring at Loki's neck as he read, the way he frowned in concentration, muttering to himself words Thor didn't understand. Magic. Queen Freyja, the beautiful queen Freyja was also an expert in magic, although she didn't do any blood magic as the Jotuns were known to do, the laws of Vanaheim forbidding such a practice. She was gorgeous, and youthful in appearance, forever, as ethereal beauty was a trait of the Vanir. It made his stomach twist in weird angles to think about it.

They were in the library on that day, the sun filtering through the dark curtains of Mother's library. Thor had never liked philosophy, or the pointless arguments in Elvish exchanged between two old men who had died centuries ago. He sat up, exhausted, gave Loki a glance. The boy was there, as always, reading in a religious silence, a small, black book between his fingers. Thor looked at the cover intently, not finding a title. He shrugged. He didn't want to keep on studying but the tutors would have no mercy, he knew it.

"What are you reading?" he asked. "It doesn't have a title."

Loki was sitting in a comfortable silence beside Thor, reading intently from the book of Elvish poetry, sonnets, and plays that Frigga had given him. The words flowed gracefully, even in the Aesir language, dancing across the page and his lips as he read, until Thor said something. It took him a minute to pull himself from the book but when he did, he simply smiled and flipped to the very first page.

Neither by hand  
Nor by mouth  
Shall I bruise you

Neither by heart  
Nor by soul  
Shall I wound you

Yet by hand  
And by mouth  
I shall honor you

By heart  
And by soul  
You will be loved

He read softly, the words wafting into the air like a leaf on the wind, but he puts much soul and spirit into the words as he did in his training. "Tis untitled, because it is the original copy. Queen Frigga was gracious enough to allow me to borrow it." He murmured gently, his lips quirking into a smile. "It also holds songs of heroes and grand tales. Not just poetry, though I must admit, the poems are my favorite." To him, poems held just as much of a tale as the stories and songs of old, but with more emotion, more vivid images. He could feel the soft sway of the grass bending in the wind, the warm sun brushing his cheek... He often lost himself in the world of the poet.

Thor had never been one for poetry, yet he closed his eyes as Loki spoke, listening to the soft intonations of his voice. There was something undeniably feminine in the way he spoke, hints of accent sometimes slipping on his tongue without him knowing it, and Thor couldn't decide for himself if he liked it or hated it. It had annoyed it at first, how he seemed to avoid confrontation, how he seemed terrified all the time, but he had learned that it somehow was his natural state. Loki read books and books never shouted, and so he did the same.

The old fools from Alfheim could wait, and so Thor closed his own book with a small, short clapping noise. He straightened himself up from the awkward position he had been stuck in during the last half-hour. He didn't feel like to read this anymore but couldn't really get out of the library until noon. He looked at Loki, reading out loud, his fingers trailing his way through every word of the page. It was weird, how the prince of Jotunheim spoke of stories and poems like some long lost friends. Thor had never felt that way when Mother had forcefully tried to get him to read on his own, preferring to run around the palace's grounds and play war with Volstagg and Fandral.

"You sound like Mother, its funny."

It sounded stupid and Thor only realized this once the words had escaped his lips. He shook his head.

"I mean, not in a bad way, you know... She really loves poetry and books and that kind of things, and I'm sure she'd be glad to know you're enjoying it too. I've never been one to sit around and read for fun, so she must be happy that at least someone now uses her private library for enjoyment and not only me being forced into reading philosophy and history."

He had a nervous laugh, scratched his head. This was awkward. He should have just kept his eyes open as he fell asleep on his Elvish readings.

"It's just nice."

Loki watched as Thor fumbled for words, a gentle, curious smile on his face. He liked the way Thor spoke, especially when he had to back track and fix what he had said, the way he blushed up his nose just the slightest when the red colored his cheeks. "I take no offense; your mother is very kind and caring. I appreciate being viewed in any way like her." He assured gently, hiding a smile, "such words are very much a compliment." He continued, gently, smiling and closing his own book for a moment. "You're lucky to have her, I never knew my mother, she died at my birth." He wished he could have known her, his sister and brothers assured she was one of the most amazing women anyone could have known.

He paused for a moment, sitting up a little straighter, "If you would like, I could read to you. I know you like hearing stories; perhaps if you didn't have to try and concentrate on the translation and all, you'd be more interested. We could go outside so you don't feel confined here." He didn't know why he wanted to read aloud to the warrior. Maybe it was nice to have a presence there with him, listening, or it was an excuse to keep the prince close and awake during what were supposed to be his lessons. "I used to have to read Agmund's Elvish lessons aloud, because to him the written word made no sense, but hearing it did."

Slowly, Loki scooted to the end of the couch he was on and patted the seat next to him, in offering. He began speak before Thor even moved though, telling of an ancient war between the Elves and Vanir, the smooth prose and poems flowing easily from his lips. His green eyes glanced up at Thor in questioning, asking if he should continue. After all, if the prince wasn't enjoying or appreciating the effort, it wouldn't be difficult for him to just go back to the quiet reading he had been doing since he had arrived here.

Thor stayed still for a moment, surprised. He blinked, surprised. The proposal was sudden, especially coming from Loki who usually followed as he was told to most of the time. Yet, Thor missed the days of old when Mother sang the songs of her ancestors and the Vanir. She played the southern lute, her fingers dancing over the instrument as she told him the stories of lovers separated by the realms, the adventures of brave warriors and the endless wheel of life turning and turning until the end of time. He accepted with a nod; letting himself fall next to the Jotun prince. Loki started speaking.

As words danced on the tip of Loki's tongue, his accent barely audible, Thor had a sad smile. Loki had never had a mother and for a moment he wondered if anyone had ever read him anything as a child. Was it even the Jotun way to tell stories to children? He couldn't know, but Loki's voice knew how to tell stories, not stopping too often, making it go higher or lower at the right moments. He guessed he had, and tried to imagine the tales the Jotun told their children at night. Were the Aesir the fearful monsters for the youngest there?

He read him the story of the king of Alfheim, an evil, cruel man, and his only love, the beautiful heiress of Vanaheim. When the princess, whose beauty was only equaled by her goodness and virtue, fell in love with a prince of another realm and married him, the madness overthrew the already fragile mind of the Elf king. He waged war over the Nine Realms, decided to get the beautiful Vanir by force if not by sentiment.

Loki described the beauty of the Vanir princess with great details, his voice soft with a touch of admiration in the way he let the A's and the E's trail in the back of his throat, and Thor could help but to be reminded of the eerie impression queen Freyja had left on him when he was but a child. In her long green dress, blond hair flowing around her, she was beautiful, her brother by her side, forever young, and she could be his if he only decided to speak up a little bit against the words of Father. If only...

This trail of thoughts made Thor wince, and as the idea crossed his mind, Loki stopped speaking, giving him a questioning look. Thor was pretty sure the boy didn't read minds, but the coincidence made him feel weird. It took him a few seconds to finally open his mouth.

"You're not telling me what happened to the sovereign of Alfheim?" he asked, careful to hide his discomfort. He wasn't sure if he wanted the Elf tyrant to be punished for his crimes, after all.

Loki smiled gently and finished the story. The king had of course been punished for his crimes, put to death and the princess had gained rule over the land with her lover. It wasn't his favorite story, but it was nice all the same, besides, it got Thor closer and killed time for both of them. He finished the story easily, the last few paragraphs jumping easily to his lips. He closed the book and smiled gently. "I could read more if you like, but perhaps you've heard enough for the day?" He frowned a little. Thor looked upset, nervous even as he sat there.

He straightened when someone came close, though he smiled when he saw it was only the Allfather and Allmother. He greeted them kindly, earning a smile from both. "Good afternoon." Frigga smiled gently, patting her son's hair. "Did you have a good lesson?" She asked, moving to examine the book in Loki's hand. "We were just reading about Alfheim war." Loki said with a smile.

"Good, good! That is an excellent story." Odin smiled at them. "But now it is time to greet guests and prepare!" Noting the quizzical glances on the boys' faces, Odin laughed, loudly and heartily. "Tis your birthday tomorrow, my son! We have much to prepare for!"

The words made Loki's heart sink in his stomach, realization settling in. With Thor's birthday all but upon them, the wedding wouldn't be too much off. "That's wonderful," He managed, plastering a smile on his face. "Perhaps I should leave you to it?"

"Of course not, I'm sure the guests would love to meet you, Loki." Frigga assured with an understanding smile.

The rather anti-climactic ending of the tale of the cruel prince of Alfheim left a rather grim feeling in Thor's gut. He looked up to Father, trying his best to hide his discomfort. Men killed kings when they deemed them unworthy of ruling. What had the Allfather thought by forcing this unnatural alliance? How was he supposed to gain the respect of the Aesir with a Jotun as his consort? He tried to chase those thoughts of his head, raised from his seat and gave Mother what might have been exactly like a smile if he had been truly happy with all his heart. His eyebrows were all wrong, his mouth a little off. Thor had always been a terrible liar.

"I can't wait to go, then. The guests have already arrived? I thought the celebrations were only to begin tomorrow."

"The dwarves of Svartalfaheim wanted to be early for tomorrow's tournament. They have yet to forge your weapon."

Father made a low chuckle of approval, and Thor smiled a real smile this time. The ceremonies surrounding the coming of age of young Aesir nobles had always been a bit of a competition between the houses of the realm, and as a prince he was assured his feast would be a things generations would remember. The tournament that followed was a rather big deal too, as all the allies of Asgard were invited to take part to the fights in archery, joust and sword fighting that would take place there. Then, Thor would receive his weapon, crafted by the skillful smiths of Svartalfaheim and symbol of power and maturity.

His passing from childhood to maturity might have meant that his marriage with the heir of Jotunheim was close, but the excitement of finally have a proper word in the matters of the state made him shiver with excitement.

"Will there be a feast tonight then?"

Mother nodded. "Dwarves aren't known for their culinary delicacies, but those ambassadors brought enough mead to get the entirety of Asgard's army drunk. I'll never understand the traditions of Svartalfaheim."

Thor gave a hearty laugh to the dramatic sigh she let out, already walking toward the door. The reminder of the tournament and the feast for his coming of age lifted his spirits to no end.

"I guess we need to warn Sif and the Warriors Three then! We'll see each other tonight at the banquet!" He said as he pushed open the library door, impatient to get out, dragging Loki behind him.

Thor more or less ran to the palace's great hall, only stopping by a servant to ask about Sif's whereabouts and to pass the invitation to tonight's feast to Fandral. Sif's family, a small but proud and independent house from the South, didn't live in Valhalla, preferring to own a mansion in the city that surrounded the palace. Sif's place wasn't that far, not enough to take the horses out, and Thor gave Loki a mischievous grin as they passed the palace's doors, stopping before the large golden stairs that led to the noisy, lively neighborhoods of the lower city.

"Sif doesn't live too far. Time for you to see a bit of the real Asgard, right?"

Loki watched the exchanges with a small smile, setting the book aside and pulling his braid over his shoulder, fiddling with it idly as he listened. He knew very little of the more current Aesir coming of age ceremonies, only what books told him. He knew his brothers' coming of ages were full of singing, dancing and laughter. Loki had always loved to sing, the songs of old flying from his lips. He knew a few from Asgard, but not as many as he knew in Elvish and Jotun.

He perked a little when he noticed the Allfather's eye on him, as if trying to read his mind. He offered a smile to the huge king, earning a gentle smile in return, far more gentle than he ever thought possible. He wondered silently, what the king was searching for, but it was apparently found as he earned a pat on his shoulder before Thor was dragging him out of the seat. He squeaked lightly, but followed behind him as quickly as he could.

He smiled when they came to the steps examining the long way to the village. It would be nice to see more of Asgard than just the palace, he thought, beaming up at Thor as the older boy spoke. "Let's go then! I'll race you down the stairs!" He laughed, "Onyourmarkgetsetgo!"

Being small and lithe, that was one thing Loki did have going for him, he was quite speedy. He took the stairs three at a time and was lucky that he didn't fall flat on his face. He made it to the bottom quickly though, grinning at Thor before turning to peer into the town square, watching as children romped through the streets and women sat together, laughing as they knitted or sewed. He was nervous, first of all, he had no idea where he was going, and secondly, he wasn't sure how the town folk would react to his presence. He looked silently up at Thor, questioningly.

"Tired already?" Thor laughed at the boy. "There's still a way to go until we get at Sif's!"

Still running, he grabbed Loki's hand as he passed him, dragging him through a maze of smaller streets and passageways. A proper visit of the city could wait; there were important matters to attend to right now.

Thor had a special knack for passing unremarked in the busy streets of Asgard although he was supposed to be the heir and act accordingly. It part thanks to Father's will to loosen the once restrictive laws and ceremonials surrounding the royal family. The progressive reforms the actual Allfather had put in place had started to implement themselves before Thor grew old enough to remember of the common people fall on their knees when they saw him.

Thor never tired, not by running through the paved streets of the lower city. His day clothes never dragged much attention, keeping it sober when decoration wasn't needed, just as Father did, and at the speed they slalomed between the stalls of fruits of today's market and the carts full of live chickens and barrels of mead to be sold before his birthday, they didn't get recognized. Loki's face was still something a few were knowledgeable of, most of the inhabitants of the realm imagining a fearful ice monster as the future king's consort.

"I am not tired, but I don't know the way!" Loki said with a pout, though he couldn't help but beam as Thor took his hand, a pleased blush appearing on his face. He followed the boy happily, laughing as they skirted through town, passing through the back roads and the town, acting less like a prince and more like a young boy as they ducked and weaved between people and carts. His father would have been furious, it was likely that the Allfather would have been too, but he loved the feeling he got while running and laughing with his intended.

Intended... He forced the word from his mind. Right now, he wanted to pretend he was simply Loki, and Thor was just his friend.

Sif's family mansion wasn't too far from the castle, near the eastern part of town. It wasn't really impressive, unlike the sumptuous apartments of Fandral's family inside the walls of the inner city. It was a simple building of three stories, in off-white bricks, two large iron doors to let the horses in the inner gardens. The windows were the first thing Sif's father had changed when they had arrived to the capital, placing instead of the usual smaller openings most houses in the center had large windows with paintings of the sigil of the southern house, a golden wreath.

Thor didn't knock, the servants already opening the door for him. He didn't visit very often, Sif preferring to come herself to the palace, but his name was known and the servants, all natives from Sif's home country, were old-fashioned, southern people attached to traditions, and it was only at Thor's demand that they had ceased to kneel whenever they saw him.

"Could you tell the lady Sybil that we will need her daughter for the evening?" He asked the steward of the house, a short, portly man with fiery red hair. "She is invited to tonight's feast to celebrate the arrival of the envoys from Svartalfaheim."

As the servant went away, Thor gave Loki a pat on the shoulder, grinning.

"Sif's mother is... Something. She'll probably force her to wear dress, and if we're lucky, she'll get her hair braided, wear a bit perfume and jewelry. Sif might not look like it, but she can be a rather fair maiden if she puts her heart to it, or rather if someone puts their heart into forcing her to fit into feminine clothes."

Loki refused to let Thor out run him, so he made sure to keep pace with the boy, slowing to a stop only when he did. Loki gave a breathless grin, brushing his hair back as the servants ran to alert their mistress.

"Sif is very independent, it isn't something to force out of someone." He smiled again and shrugged. "It's something to be admired, and you can hardly force anyone to change." Loki perked when he saw a small woman appear... But even she was taller than him. He sighed a little at the realization but smiled pleasantly anyway.

Sybil was a short, shapely woman who never seems to walk, always half-running, half-strutting wherever she went. After a few shouts on the second floor, something Thor recognized like the odd, Vanir-like dialect of the South, she more or less ran down the stairs to meet them, dressed in a white tunic, her small feet only covered by thin cotton slippers. She came to meet Thor, sparing but a short glance at Loki, with a large smile on her face, her hair impeccably braided and pinned into an intricate bun. She had always seemed to Thor like a true southern lady, so unlike her daughter, always elegant and feminine, with her large hips and generous breasts. She bowed very low, even though Thor had often told her that all the ceremonial really wasn't necessary, true to her origins. Thor tried not to roll his eyes.

"Prince Thor! What a surprise! You'll forgive my appearance today, I was not aware you were to visit! Oh, I look dreadful!" She talked was fast, her accent heavy in her mouth, making large movements of the hands. "Sif is upstairs. I told her to change. She went out again God-knows-where, came back with her clothes all battered and dirty. She told me she had been training! Training! I tried to tell her to act more lady-like, especially since she decided that the husband her father chose for him wasn't good enough for her, but she won't hear me out!"

She played nervously with the row of pearls that hung around her neck, biting her painted lips. Thor couldn't help but to smile. It always seemed incredible to him that the calm, fiercely warrior Sif lived in the same house as Lady Sybil, always so effusive about her emotions and meticulous about her appearance.

"Sif is a very fair maiden and she will without a doubt find herself someone to share her life with." Thor chuckled. "You need not to worry, Lady Sybil."

Sybil sighed, despair subtly twisting the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, how I wish that matters had been different and that you could have married my dear daughter, Prince Thor! You would have been the perfect husband for her, really! Although I really hope that you're not too unhappy with this Jotun prince she told me about, even though Sif keeps telling me that this Loki of Jotunheim really isn't as monstrous as the legends say. Is it true that they can't eat cooked meat or use utensils?"

Loki enjoyed listening to Thor and the woman banter, listening if only to learn about Thor's friend. Besides, it was rather amusing to watch Thor and the boisterous lady interact, the way she spoke and the small signs that Thor gave off. A restrained roll of eyes, a twitch of his lips, a flex of muscle in his arms... He chuckled lightly, turning to examine the woman. He could see where her daughter got that fire and spunk, her looks as well! Even though Sif obviously didn't put her fire and passion into what her mother deemed necessary for a young lady, but surely the woman was proud of her daughter, no matter what the young lady did.

He couldn't help but listen more closely when the woman began speaking of what nonsense rumors that were spread about his kind. He laughed softly at the idea of his dainty sister trying to eat with her hands or his brothers trying to eat the vegetables and roots that would be in place of wild boars at feasts.

"I assure you, m'lady, the Jotun race is more civilized than most realize." He finally spoke, smiling before he bent in a respectful bow. He took no offense to it; after all he was sure there were false truths for every race.

"Mother, allow me to introduce you to The Prince Loki Laufeyson." Sif said from where she stood on the stairs, a little red from embarrassment, but dressed prettily in a simple white gown. "Loki, I hope you don't mind."

"After Fandral's jokes I'm sure I can stand anything." He assured with a smile, giving a little bow to Sif as well.

"I wasn't going to wear this, but I was told it was for the preparations of your coming of age, I figured I best try to look like a lady for a night or two." She frowned in distaste, though her mother seemed pleased at what she was wearing.

"And for the record, I would not marry Thor if things had played out different. Sorry big fellow, but I'm simply not interested in marriage." She teased with a small smirk; a hand settling on her hip as the other playfully tapped Thor's shoulder.

Sif's mother had made a barely audible squeaking sound as she realized her mistake, staying afterwards uncharacteristically silent. The furtive glances she now gave Loki mixed terror and embarrassment. She probably feared to fall out of grace because of her little slip-up, the unsaid rule of the court being that matters couldn't be addressed directly, always by sideway little looks and subtle changes in manners. It made Thor mad to no end, as he had always been as the actual Allfather, frank to a point that could almost be perceived as rude. He shrugged her little side step off, choosing instead to give Sif one of his blinding smiles.

"Then all the young warriors of Asgard shall despair, knowing that the fair and strong Sif won't marry them!"

He laughed, placing his hands on her shoulders. He turned his head slightly, meeting Loki's gaze, soft as ever, like the water of a pond on a dry summer day. Thor looked at him for a moment, and something suddenly struck him. Marriages. He frowned, remembering the upcoming wedding and Kvasir's sly, measured words. Fast enough, he shook his head, giving to Sif's mother an apologizing look.

"Please excuse us Lady Sybil. Since the maiden is ready, we shall leave. Give our regards to the master of the house, and tell him that Father cordially invites him to participate in tomorrow's tournament."

He gave a small bow to Sybil, who slightly jumped in surprise, as she would never grow used to the new ways of the court of Valhalla. She bade them farewell with large moves of the hands and numerous advices destined to her daughter, reminding her to act like a proper lady this time, no fighting and to hold correctly her fork and her knife. Sif took it all with her everlasting calm expression, only opening her mouth back again when they had passed the front door.

"Yes, Mother, I shall be a perfect little idiot and wait for my prince charming like the maidens of the songs of our ancestors!" she said as they walked, massaging the bridge of her nose. "Gods, like if last time hadn't been terrible enough..."

Thor sighed, giving her a pat on the shoulder. Sif's mother had only had boys, and her only daughter refused to play with her the game of courtship and marriage. Sif's last courter had been young and fair enough to make her maybe change her mind about wedding at first, but his conversation had bored her to tears, and his utter inability to use a sword or a bow correctly, accusing the quality of her father's equipment for his weakness, had cut short any of her mother's dream to see her wed before she grew into an old maid.

"You know, Lady Sybil only wants your happiness. It's just..." Thor was bad with words. "You're just very different and it's hard for her to comprehend what would truly make you happy."

It felt weird, saying that, with Loki by his side, remnant of Father's will and how Thor could only follow the words of the Allfather. They stayed silent for the rest of the walk back to the castle, the streets now emptying themselves as the sun started its course back toward the horizon. Thor kept his head low, and they passed more or less unnoticed up until the large stairs of the castle.

"Well this is a surprise..."

It was; the Vanir had also chosen to come early. Thor blinked, recognizing the large, impressive silhouette of the Vanir royal carriage on the top of the hill. This was going to be problematic.

Loki had simply met that blue gaze with his own soft green eyes, giving a tiny, almost tired smile. The way back to the castle was slower, and he had the chance to examine the town. He smiled at the sight of the stalls at the market, examining the handmade trinkets and produce they had for sale. He had to admit, he lingered a little, letting Thor and Sif walk a head a little before he ran to catch up with them.

The small group split at the top of the stairs, each going his (or her) own separate paths to prepare for the feast. Loki, after grabbing the ornamental clothes he planned on wearing, searched out Frigga, finding her in the grand hall with her hand maidens. "Excuse me, my lady." He murmured shyly, giving a bow.

"There is no need for such formalities, dear, have I not said so before?" Frigga asked, not unkindly, smiling gently as she did so. "You may call me Mother or Frigga, Loki, it is perfectly alright."

A blush stained Loki's pale cheeks and he nodded bashfully, pulling his long braid over his shoulder and toying with it slowly. "I... I was wondering... Perhaps... If you would assist me in... Cutting my hair?" The words hurt almost physically to say. His hair was the last piece of his physical identity that had not been changed and a reminder his life in Jotunheim. It was not something easily said or done.

"It... It is very uncommon to have hair in Jotunheim, so those who have it keep it long... I need someone I can trust to cut it." He explained in an even softer voice than usual, causing Frigga to move closer just to hear him.

"Oh, darling of course I will cut your hair. It is not necessary, you know. If you wish to keep it, no one will tell you otherwise. It really is quite lovely."

"No, I want to do this." He needed to prove that he could change, he could adapt. It seemed as if the Queen understood his need, for she gave him a sort of knowing smile before dismissing her handmaidens. She took his hand and led him to a dressing room, setting up a long mirror in front of a stool and a comfortable chair. "I used to give Thor his haircuts here, how he hated them." She laughed softly, easing Loki into the stool and pulling out a pair of scissors from a drawer.

He knew she was telling a story, he could see himself reacting to and laughing about it, but all he could really remember afterward, was listening to the scraping of metal on metal and watching as his hair was clipped away lock by lock, long strand by strand. It felt as if the last of his heritage really had been stripped away, leaving him an outsider in all realms, leaving him with shoulder length hair that curled slightly at the ends.

After cleaning up, Frigga kissed his forehead and bid him farewell, leaving him to dress and prepare mentally for the feast. He found himself dawdling, stalling for time and running his fingers through his now distressingly short hair. He finally dressed in the formal clothes, a pleasing black and emerald green ensemble with golden trim, something the tailer here had made for was absolutely no way he was going to be late... He just wished he had more time to prepare.

He made his way silently to the dining hall, finding Thor and his parents already there. He quickly took his seat next to Thor, murmuring a soft greeting as a servant announced the arrival of the Queen Freyja.

Sitting next to Father always felt weird. It made Thor feel small and constricted in layers of silk and unnecessary jewelry. Protocol being what they were, he really could escape it, and Fandral had more or less giggled all the time as he picked Thor's most delicate clothing and forced upon him an impressive amount of gold and precious stones. Sif had watched with a small, amused smirk. Of course.

The envoys from Svartalfaheim hadn't yet finished the smiting of Thor's new weapon and would probably be late, keeping the best for desert. Tonight's entertainment, a few musicians the Vanir had brought with them, where already setting up He gave Father a look of concern. Loki hadn't showed up yet and the queen Freyja and her brother were meant to show up in only a few moments. Father sighed, giving her a reassuring half-smile, rising up from his seat at the center of the table to offer words of welcome to tonight's guests. His words were weighted and well-chosen, as always, earning himself the ever approving nods of his most faithful generals.

Without Thor really knowing it, Loki had taken place beside him, whispering a soft salutation. It surprised him to see him come back with his hair shorter and clad in what Thor recognized as a more Vanir-like style, clothes obviously chosen by Mother. It surprised Thor, how well it fitted him, hugging his slim silhouette where his Asgardian shirts and trousers seemed to hang loose. Thor made a face, catching himself staring a tad bit too long. He whispered a small "Hi" to him as the queen of Vanaheim entered the feast hall, followed by her brother and the ambassador of Vanaheim in Asgard.

The woman was gorgeous, slim, with long golden hair and sparkling eyes, a long, shimmering blue dress covering her dainty frame. "Prince Thor." Her voice was smooth, silken and smooth as she came closer, a brilliant smile on that gorgeous face. "I've not seen you in so long. Allow me to personally wish you a joyous coming of age and congratulations."

The legends about Freyja's eternal beauty were true, and Thor couldn't help but to be enraptured by the sight of the queen of the Vanir. He wasn't alone, and he spotted quite a few of the other younger warriors from the higher houses of the realm simply look, mouth agape. Her silken hair seemed to dance as she walked, and her apparent thinness wasn't unattractive as it should have been. She looked elegant, covered in expensive fabric, her full hips undulating as she walked.

Thor didn't fully catch up that he was supposed to answer her.

"I... Um. My father and I are pleased to welcome you to Asgard, Queen Freyja and Prince Freyr," he finally managed to articulate.

He gave an awkward bow to her and her brother. Freyr was surprisingly tall for a Vanir, with large shoulders and a rather impressive built, beautiful as his sister. He could have passed as an Asgardian, hadn't it been for his purple eyes, just like his sister's, and the large bun that kept his long hair from falling over his shoulders, typical of Vanir men. He took a few steps further, now standing next to the queen, his voice full and deep.

"We are the one thanking you for your hospitality. We wish you the best, to you and your future husband."

His eyes darted toward Loki and Thor couldn't help but to read aggression all over the man's body, from the sharp, cutting corner of his smile to the way his muscles rolled smoothly as he bowed a second time. The prince of Asgard gritted his teeth.

"Please do enjoy your stay here," said Father, interrupting Thor's train of thought. "We are honored by such a visit and hope that the mead of Asgard will taste as sweet to your mouths as the mead of Vanaheim."

On these words, the Allfather clapped his hands together three times and servants seemed to crawl out of nowhere bringing to the tables large pieces of roasted meat and impressive plates of foreign fruits decorating a boar head, a pheasant or a duck. The Vanir went to their places, not too far from the royal table, Thor unable to get his eyes off Freyja's silhouette as she walked, almost dancing, next to Kvasir the ambassador.

He blinked, shook his head. He hated this ridiculous game of politics he had found himself entrapped in.

"Thank you for your kind words, Allfather, I'm sure my brother and I will enjoy our stay, I feel very much at home already." The gorgeous woman assured, her lovely eyes lingering on Thor, though she didn't even give Loki a glance. After all, he was unfit for the throne. Everyone knew it. To have a Jotun in a position of power in Asgard was downright degrading to the kingdom. But, perhaps she could point Thor away from the wishes of his father, away from Jotunheim. She smiled rather gorgeously at the young man as the musicians struck up and began playing.

"Would I be out of line, to ask the man of the hour for a dance?" She purred lightly looking at Odin and Thor with her sweetest smile.

Odin gave his consent on the subject, after glancing at Loki for a moment. Though when Thor and Freyja swept off with several of the guests to dance, it left young Loki feeling quite alone and awkward. That was the one thing he never learned. Dancing. He knew a few dances from Jotunheim, but he hadn't really done much studying on any Asgardian dances.

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. "Well, since your intended is off dealing with... Foreign politics, might I have this dance?" Fandral grinned lightly as he bowed to Loki, as if knowing the Frost Giant's weakness.

A flush appeared on the moon pale cheeks. "I'll only step on your toes; I've no skill in dancing."

Fandral laughed easily and pulled the delicate boy to his feet, causing him to stumble into the warrior's chest. "Just let me lead." The warrior smiled, pulling Loki onto the dance floor.

While Fandral attempted to teach the young Jotun, Freyja was happy to prance around with Thor, a quick upbeat song strumming from the band. "What an excellent song," she smiled as they danced, her eyes everywhere but Thor. She was pleased to see that all eyes were on them, that she was right where she deserved to be, in the center of attention. "And what do you think of your little intended?" Her voice all but sang, but she didn't give Thor a chance to answer. "I think that your father is making a mistake, both diplomatically and sensibly. Honestly, look at him."

She nodded over to where Loki was, flustered and trying to match Fandral's quick steps as he was dragged around. Many had begun to observe them, and Volstagg had even cut in, providing a slightly slower partner. The larger man took his time to explain and help Loki with the steps, easing Loki into a careful dance.

"He can't even dance properly, let alone rule at your side. And what of heirs?" She frowned a little. "He's obviously male, how do you expect the rule to continue after you must step down?"

Thor felt... weird. He was a good dancer, of course, as any warrior of Asgard, but he found himself stumbling a bit as he led the queen of Vanaheim through the hall, her palm soft and delicate against his. They moved around following the beat, and Thor found himself unsure of his feet, trying desperately to hold eye contact with the Vanir. She seemed to move like water, unpredictable, and Thor found himself staring at her pale, long neck, how soft and delicate it seemed. It was odd, how she managed to look so stunning even though bones sometimes showed themselves through her fair skin, how seemingly thin she was. Her words shouldn't have surprised him but they did. He stopped, uneasy.

"Listen, I..."

They had stepped aside, hidden behind the large pillars that circled the room, Thor giving a few quick glances around; making sure that no one was listening. He somehow felt ashamed.

His voice was weak and it annoyed him. He thought of Loki, of how utterly out of place he must have felt and yet how he somehow managed to look like it didn't truly bother him. Did he do it because of his own father, of the cruel lord of the Snowlands and the game of politics? He looked at Freyja, how beautiful she was, and bit his lips. This could be his and yet...

"... I am no traitor to the Allfather, Queen Freyja. I won't... I can't accept your brother's offer."

Freyja was happy to follow Thor behind the pillar; after all, the offer they had made was practically irresistible. There were men and warriors from all over, trying to win her hand and convince her to marry, but no, she chose to offer herself to the Prince of Asgard. Thor would be envied by all who heard of the engagement. She smirked softly and listened to Thor, the words taking a minute to sink in.

He was... Rejecting their offer? Rejecting _her_?!

"You're making a grave mistake." She all but snarled, her normally angelic face twisting angrily. "I know more about ruling and about Asgard and traditions than you and your little bride put together. I have more power in the courts, I know how to work them, and you would forever have Vanaheim's support in any war you pursue. What can that Jotun give you, other than a shaky peace with the nearly destroyed Frost Giants? He has nothing! Those creatures are weak, and even if they did declare war, I can promise you would defeat them without even batting an eye! Are you certain you wish to turn my brother and I away? For that scrawny monster? For the sake of your foolish old father?"

She watched him intently, looking for any sign of weakness or hesitation, her blue eyes hard as diamonds as she searched him. She couldn't even fathom what was going through the Prince's head that made him think this was better for his kingdom.

"You must be just as dense as he. Like father like son."

Anger suited her ill, her pink mouth twisting into the most undesirable shapes, and he looked around, making sure no-one had heard her talk. He didn't want anyone to know he had been receiving offers behind his back, because that wasn't something a royal prince was supposed to do. He wouldn't betray Father, and, even though it felt weird to say, he wouldn't betray Loki. Maybe the alliance was a bad idea, maybe they couldn't count on King Laufey's word about holding the peace, maybe it would be indeed a fruitless union, but it didn't mean he would let his own feelings get in the way. He felt his blood burning as she insulted Father, but he gritted his teeth, taking a step back before he did anything stupid.

"I obey the All-Father, and you should too, Freyja of Vanaheim. Remember to who your allegiance and the protection of your kingdom falls to."

On these words, he left her there, too angry to go back to Loki and pretend nothing had happened. He headed for the gardens, finding Sif along the way, obviously trying to hide herself too. She looked at him, his whole body tensed as she sat alone in the garden, a bottle of the dwarfs' mead next to her. Thor unceremoniously let himself fall next to her, trying and failing to read the hard, stern expression of her face. She did that, sometimes, just fall silent and turn her face to stone, when anger became too strong to even scream out. He didn't say anything, didn't need to, only leaning over her and taking, with his right hand, the bottle she had brought with her. He needed a drink, too.

They took turns sipping from the bottle, not talking, looking up at the stars. Tonight was a nice night, and tomorrow would be a good day to hold a tournament, the air not too humid and the sky all clear. It took Sif a moment to break the silence, her face a little bit red from the alcohol and her lips shaking.

"I swear, if I had a sword right now, I would have cut this little lord's hand for thinking it was appropriate to touch me like this."

Thor shook his head, though he didn't dare putting a hand on her shoulder, her anger radiating through her skin. It had been hard for her lately, because she should have been ready for marriage and yet she wasn't, not now, probably not ever. Sif's actual status as someone more poetic might have called "a blooming flower" attracted the unwanted attentions of pretenders who either want the prestige of her family or the money of her father, and it made her mad.

He took another swing from the bottle, warmth slowly filling him. He hadn't eaten yet, and it felt weird to drink on an empty stomach, but he didn't want to go back just yet, to face Freyr with his impressive muscles and Father with his ever-looking eye. It felt nice, and he let himself feel enraptured by the infinity of space over their heads. The bottle emptied itself slowly but surely, Sif's now heavy head falling on his shoulder as she started rambling about her mother and the duties of a young maiden. Thor listened and laughed as she did, feeling his jaw grown numb and his cheeks grow warm. For a moment, weddings and politics didn't matter, and it felt good.

While all these secret dealings and hiding went on, Loki was forced to mingle with the Vanir and other early guests, plastering on his best fake smile as he accepted faux compliments, flattery, thinly veiled disgust, and insults. It was disorientating, quite like being hit with the broad side of a sword. He did not know what to say or what all the customs were, what the acceptable answers were to some questions, or acceptable reactions to hypothetical terms and problems, and he had very little help. The Allfather and Allmother could not be expected to watch and help him the entire time, both had more pressing matters to attend, Volstagg and Fandral had gotten into a sort of drinking and eating contest, and Sif and Thor had both gone off somewhere! So that left Loki alone in the lion's, den carefully making excuses, trying to muddle through politics, and trying to avoid the sharp teeth of bloodthirsty ambassadors, eager to make him slip up.

He had finally managed to hide himself behind a curtain, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. It was positively frightening out there. He wondered silently if he could just wait here the rest of the night. Surely he had enough power to make himself invisible, or transport him back to the room. But just as he was thinking up a spell, the curtain was pulled back, and he jumped, looking bashfully up into the eye of Odin. It was as if that single grey eye could see his entire mind laid out before him, as if he had no secrets that could hide in that gaze. After a moment though, the look grew soft - sad, sympathetic bordering on pitying - and it had Loki flushing and bowing his head with embarrassment and shame.

"I believe I saw Thor leave to comfort Sif in the garden." Odin's surprisingly soft voice murmured, a hand placed on Loki's shoulder. "The hour is growing late, and he will need to be up early for tomorrow. Why don't you go fetch him, so that he may eat something before he retires for the night?"

The man was offering him a chance, a window of time to escape the crowd and the politics, even if it was only for a few short moments. Loki looked up again and nodded slowly, earning a pat on his shoulder.

"Thank you, sir." He said sincerely before sneaking out of the curtains and out into the cool night air. He took his time going to the gardens, breathing slowly and feeling the cool wind on his cheek. This was precisely what he needed.

"Thor?" He called gently, seeing two forms sitting on a stone bench in front of the orchids. As he moved closer, he could practically smell the strong stench of alcohol on his intended and Sif. He put a careful hand on Thor's shoulder, moving so he could see the boy in the strong moonlight. "Thor, your father would like you to come in before you go to rest. You have a long day tomorrow."

"Oh Loki!" Thor laughed. It sounded funny, "oh loki", "oloki", "oloko", "iliki". He turned in an ample movement, Sif groaning in disapproval, her body straightening itself up lazily. He laughed again, and she gave him an unconvinced blow of her fist on his shoulder. He winced in mock pain.

"You're going to get married and I'm not," she blurted out, a strange kind of triumph in her voice. "Never ever ever married."

Thor gave her a pat on the head, still staring at Loki. The boy was standing there, something like incomprehension in his eyes, and it was weird to see him like this, his hair short and his clothes shining in the soft glow of the palace's illuminated feast hall. He gripped his hand, raising himself up shakily; somehow ending slouched over the boy's smaller frame. It was odd, because his skin was cold while Thor's own is burning up, and he ended up burying his face in the crook of his neck, his cheeks feeling colder as he pushed them against his throat. He didn't really care if it bothered him or not. It just felt nice.

Oh dear, they were drunk, completely and utterly gone. Loki gave a soft "eep" when he found himself with Thor leaning so heavily on him. Well, he had to get Thor to his room at least. He could send for a plate of food and some water for the young prince, but he really couldn't bring him back into the dining hall. Thor would surely make a fool of himself and be ridiculed. He had to admit though, he rather liked the friendly way Thor had said his name. The first time at least, when it wasn't mumbled or jumbled up.

"Sif, why don't you just lie down a moment? I'll send a handmaiden to help you to a room, okay?" Loki's words were muffled by Thor's shoulder, but she seemed to understand, giggling again and laying out on the bench, the empty bottle of alcohol sliding from her fingertips and on to the ground. He gave a little nod before slowly leading Thor to a side hall that would avoid the feast and provide a decent way back to their room. He jumped a little at the feeling of over-warm skin pressed into his cool neck, shuddering from an odd sensation he didn't quite understand.

"Loki, Loki, Loki, tell me a story, you look so pretty when you tell me stories," he sing-sang. "Loki, Loki, where will you bring me?"

He let out another laugh, and somehow he knew in the back of his head that it was ridiculous but it didn't stop him. Loki smelled nice, has always done, but now it didn't feel wrong to truly breathe it. It was an odd, yet somehow interesting mix of pinewood and soap, with a faint touch of honey, and, all of a sudden, Thor wanted to taste it. He did, licking the side of his jaw, grimacing as he ended up with a strand of black hair in his mouth.

"You smell good but you taste weird. Are all Jotuns like that of it's just you? I think it's just you."

"What s-story should I tell you?" He asked, turning his head towards the moon. "I could tell you about two lovers, destined never to be together. I could tell you of an Elvish war and - Aeik!" He jumped back from Thor completely when he was licked, his eyes wide. Honestly, drunk or not, who just went around and _licked_ people?! He shook his head to pull the hair from Thor's mouth, giving a little grimace as he cleaned himself. If he was lucky, Thor wouldn't remember this tomorrow and he could pretend it never happened.

"Come here, you great oaf. No more licking me, okay? I'm not some sweet treat." Loki insisted when he noticed Thor was barely keeping himself up. He led him dutifully into the hall, and luckily passed a maid who could help Sif. She went quickly and quietly and soon Loki and Thor were alone again.

"I'll tell you a story, but you must stay quiet and pay attention." Loki said firmly

"_The Sun and the Moon passed each other as they did every day when day turned to night."Good night Sun." the Moon would say as she rose above the world. "Guard our people well Moon." the Sun would say as he left the sky to sleep. Moon would admire Sun's rays and Sun would admire Moon's gentle light. It was in this way that the two fell in love._

_Moon thought about the situation all night as she watched her people from the night sky. When she met Sun as they were trading places again the next day, she called out to him. "Oh Sun, you shine so handsomely and I love you so very much." The Sun replied. "I love you Moon. I always have. When can we be together?" Moon thought about this for a long moment and then spoke softly. "People don't like the darkness of night. It scares children and makes people unable to see what is around them. We could stay together and never let the darkness of night fall on our people."_

_The Sun agreed to this and said "Come shine with me Moon!" The Moon and the Sun shined all day long as they watched their people. When the time for darkness came, Sun did not set. Things did not work as they planned. Many children below cried because they didn't want to sleep while Sun was still shining and the adults couldn't sleep either because the light from Sun and Moon made the Earth too bright for them to sleep._

_"Moon," Said Sun, very late into what should have been night time. "The people are weary and cannot sleep due to my light." "Yes, agreed Moon. Let us both set so that we may be together and the people may sleep." Sun and Moon again dipped way, way down far below Asgard. This however left Asgard very, very dark with only tiny stars to make light for the people during night time._

_This made things confusing for the people. They didn't know what time it was any more and many people slept well into what should have been day time. This went on for many months, confusing the people. They missed Sun and how he lit their days, helping plants grow and giving life to them and to the animals. They missed Moon and how she gave just enough of a soft glow to make them feel protected at night and how she kept watch over the night sky. Her appearance was what helped them ease into night fall. Pretty soon many people wrote letters and asked Wind to deliver them to Sun and Moon. Most of the letters stated that they missed the two lovers and they needed night and day to remain healthy and strong. _

_After getting many of these letters, Sun and Moon knew the statements were true. Sun looked sadly at Moon. "I love being with you Moon, I love having your soft and lovely glow all to myself and I love you so much that it aches in side to tell you that we need to leave this place and go back to our people. I miss giving my people day light. They need me." The Moon sighed sadly. "Yes Sun, the people need day light and with day light they need night as well. I miss providing they light in the darkness and protecting them while they sleep. I love you, but, we must return to providing night and day for our people._

_Sadly, the two agreed that the only times they could be together was the few moments they saw each other between night and day and day and night. This time however, it was more painful. They both knew the joy of being together and it made only a few quick glimpses of each other even harder to stand. Sun would cry, which caused rain showers and floods. Moon did not feel whole without the sun, so, she only showed up as a sliver in the sky. After a few months of this Asgard spoke to them and explained that things needed to change for the sake of the people they each loved so much. "I will rotate and the people will have no idea they are spinning and Moon you will stay to one side of me while Sun, you will stay to the other. When the people on one side of me are having day light hours, the others will have night. You two will never have to pass each other again. You will not be reminded of what you can never have." Sun and Moon agreed that this would be best so, they followed Asgard's instructions and each remained on one side of Asgard._

_The people would say (once they learned about the spinning of Asgard and how the situation had played out) that when the Sun shown his brightest he was thinking of Moon and when the Moon was full, she was thinking of Sun. This is true. So, while still in love, Sun and Moon lead separate lives they remain as though married to each other by their devotion to their people and by cloaking one side of Asgard in light on one side and darkness on the other."_

By the time Loki finished, they were in the rooms and Loki was patiently helping Thor out of his good clothes, leaving him in his leggings and easing him into the bed. "And that is your story for the night." The young Jotun said softly, pouring the young man a glass of water.

"Drink this, or your hang over will be unbearable in the morning."

The cushions of his own bed felt nice, nicer than he remembered them to be. They felt cold against his face, colder than Loki's skin, and he buried his head under them, groaning as he did. The annoying tip of the upcoming headache was starting to make itself felt, but he made it fall silent with a slow massage of his temples. The furtive image of Freyja's angry expression passed through his mind. He thought of her pretty bosom, of the fine fabric of her dress. Still. He wouldn't betray Father and he wouldn't betray Loki, not matter how weird it felt to think about it.

He looked at the ice prince, who a glass of water in his right hand, frowning. Thor didn't feel like being a responsible boy tonight. He could deal with hangovers.

"Tell me, why are all your stories so sad? Is it something you Jotuns are fond of, bad endings? Or is it because you are sad yourself? There must be a young, pretty maiden crying in Jotunheim, thinking of you here to marry the heir of Asgard instead of her."

There was a slightly accusatory tone under his otherwise relaxed tone, and Thor sighed. He raised himself up, gripped the other boy's hand for support, water spilling a little bit as he did.

"I'm a selfish prince, you know, like the one from your book. I hope you don't hate me for it, even though you probably do. I sort of fucked up big time with Queen Freyja, but I guess I can't do anything now."

On these words, he let himself fall back on the bed, his palm still around Loki's wrist, dragging him with him. The glass fell on the ground with a low "clank". Svartalfar glass didn't break like normal glass, and Thor wondered for a moment what the dwarves had prepared for him, as he had not had the chance to see them at the banquet. A morning star? A hammer? Thor knew someone of his rank usually chose the sword, but he had found himself not as skilled with such a weapon. He would see in the morning.

"Loki, Loki, Loki..."

Without really knowing why he had found himself nuzzling the boy's neck, his arms flopped around his shoulder, effectively keeping him from standing up. He laughed, his voice slurring

"Loki will you forgive me, I promise I won't be a meanie if you forgive me, please Loki please forgive me."

The smell was the same, and he clumsily gripped his now shorter hair, somehow liking the sensation of newly cut strands under his fingers. He smiled. It was odd to think, but there were some things about Loki that were beautiful in their own special ways. He had pretty eyes, serious when he read, gleaming when he smiled, and shy when he spoke. It was weird, and Thor shouldn't have found it attractive, but it was.

It took him a moment to understand that he was kissing him, and his lips were dry and rough against his own. It was stupid, it was weird, but is felt nice, and Thor couldn't get his mind to work properly tonight. To hell with consequences.

Loki could only shake his head at Thor's antics, holding the cup insistently as Thor buried himself and rolled around a bit in the blankets and the cushions. "Thor, come on now. Don't be foolish. It was just the first story that came to mind." It was a lie, of course. That story was one he had listened to since he was young. He didn't know why he liked it so much. Perhaps he wanted that kind of love, perhaps he wanted to know there was someone waiting for him and missing him back home. "No, the only maiden missing me is likely my sister. There are not as many maidens in Jotunheim as there are here. I've only seen four in the city, including Shamir." He murmured, gasping lightly when Thor clutched his arm, the water dripping down his hand and arm.

"Thor, what are you-" another gasp was torn from him as Thor pulled him into the bed. It was truly the sudden affection that truly threw Loki off; the gentle way Thor was holding him, cradling him in his strong arms while whispering his name over and over. Loki found his arms hesitantly moving to wrap around the man's neck while he snuggled against him.

"I doubt you are selfish, Thor. You are putting up with an enemy for the peace of your land and people." Loki managed to murmur while Thor continued to cuddle and snuggle against him. He couldn't even imagine what was going on in that ever so inebriated head of Thor's as he continued to speak, clutching his hair with surprising gentleness. But finally, Loki said. "I forgive you Thor, its okay."

He barely got those words out before, very suddenly, he felt lips pressed against his own. Thor's lips were wet and sloppy against his own, smelling strongly of the sweet alcohol he had ingested. Loki didn't know what to do! This certainly hadn't been something anyone had talked to him about! He could only sit stiffly as Thor pulled him closer. It was... Nicer than he expected, he supposed, and as he slowly pulled away, he was very sure Thor would have been able to see his blush, even in the darkness.

"You're drunk, you'll regret that in the morning," Loki whispered, but did not move from Thor's arms. Instead, he sighed and brought the blanket up around them. "You need to rest." After a moment of silence, Loki admitted softly, "I like sadder stories, because yes, I am a little sad, and because I've always been able to relate a little more to them. My father never hid the agreement from me, Thor. I've always known that I would come here one day. To me, the sadder stories made me feel a little better about my situation." It sounded horrible, he knew, but it was how he coped, even as a child.

"It has been... Better than I expected." He admitted softly, stroking Thor's cheek a little hesitantly. "Go to sleep Thor."

Thor pouted, looking through half-closed eyes at Loki's face. He leaned against Loki's touch, not unlike a cat. It was becoming hard to think properly now, the artificial fatigue of the mead washing over his body. His limbs felt lighter than a feather, his chest heavier than lead, and he let go of the other boy, rolling onto his back.

Thor mumbled something he himself wasn't sure to understand, something about beautiful queens and cruel lords of foreign lands. His eyes closed by themselves, and he felt himself drifting into sleep.

The night passed in the blink of an eye, dreamless and pitch black. Thor snored, unaware of what schemes were being discussed on the other side of the palace.

Freyr was a practical man. That was what Kvasir had always understood. He wasn't what someone might call wise, never showing the same interest for art and knowledge as his sister, but there was a quality of thought to the propositions he made during the council sessions. His mind was a logical one, and if it wasn't uncommon to see his judgment getting clouded by the storm of his emotions, the prince of Vanaheim knew how to take the right decisions if he put his mind to it. The law dictated that Freyja, the eldest daughter of the previous queen, was to reign, but it had never kept the prince from intervening in political matters.

Even though he had incredible potential as a king, his interest in leading the Vanir was limited. Freyr only cared about his sister's happiness, had always done, obeying to each and every single of her desires. He adored her, and Kvasir, who knew everything and everyone, had always done his best to silence the rumors about the exact nature of the relationship between the sovereign of their realm and her brother.

Needless to say, Freyr did not take it well when someone made his dear sister cry. Kvasir, impassible as ever, opted not to intervene when the prince, coming back from the banquet, started to break pretty much all the vases present in his room. They had cost the ambassador a certain amount of money, but the best of his personal collection stayed in his villa in Vanaheim. He closed his eyes as the taller man shouted and raged, half-drunk with Svartalfar wine.

"You told me that we needed to act fast! I listened to you! And now Sister had her delicate heart broken by this idiotic little lord who prefers a Jotun dwarf to the pearl of the Nine Realms!"

Kvasir tried not to sigh in annoyance. "Delicate" wasn't a word he would ever use to describe the queen's way of manipulating her entourage to do her bidding.

"Please accept my apologies, your Highness. It seems that I had not anticipated this rejection. I am sure, though, that Her Majesty still wishes very dearly a union with Asgard and the possibility of spreading the influence of Vanaheim over the Nine Realms. For this, I could be of help."

The last of Kvasir's vases fell with a clanking sound over the floor, breaking in two very neat pieces, the Elvish poem written on it cut in the middle. He tried not to wince. Then, without answering right away, Freyr took a few steps toward him, his expression unreadable as he stopped less than a meter from the older man. There was tension in the large muscles of his neck, an undeniable sense of menace floating around his whole body. It was beautiful, in a way, to see the otherwise controlled prince radiating anger and aggression. Kvasir, looking up, smiled.

"And why should I trust you with this? You've already failed me once, Half-Breed."

Kvasir did not like to be reminded of the fact that unlike most of the members of the court, he was not a true Vanir, his ability with the bow largely insufficient and his access to some areas of the palace back at the capital restricted. He made a tutting sound, keeping the smile on, as he raised his hand and passed his fingertips on the side of Prince Freyr's face.

"Because I am the best at what I do and you know it, my Prince. Besides, I have already made the necessary arrangements. Why doesn't your Highness go to bed and wait until they find out tomorrow that this coming of age ceremony might have one of its key elements missing?"

Freyr's expression betrayed his surprise for a moment, and Kvasir's grin widened. This was going to be interesting.


	8. Chapter 7: Disapearing Acts

Thor rested comfortably through the night, his body finding Loki's in the middle of the night, as he had gotten used to. He wasn't awoken until he heard the door opened, a servant peeking his head in. "The AllFather and AllMother require the presence of Princes Thor and Loki." The man said, making Loki sit up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes.

Thor opened one eye, closing it back nearly instantly. The room was too bright, he had drunk too much and his head hurt. A groan of mixed pain, annoyance and sleepiness escaped his mouth, and he buried his face in his pillow, trying his best to ignore the growing pounding inside his skull. Thor wasn't what someone would call a light-weight drinker, but the mead of the dwarves was renowned for its quality and alcoholic content, and he had drunk a rather impressive amount of it, or so he thought. The events of the evening were foggy in his still half-asleep mind, Sif's anger, a shaky walk back to his rooms, crashing here without really knowing how he had ended up in the bed. Moments like this were the painful reminder that he was still but a boy, doing stupid things for all the wrong reasons.

"Tell Father we'll meet him in half an hour," he mumbled in the servant's general direction, his voice raspy and low.

He heard the door close, opened his eyes once again, slowly this time, wincing at the sunlight. He was now fully conscious of the throbbing of his head, and he cautiously put his hands around his head, unable to make it stop. He moaned as he raised himself up slowly, giving Loki, who looked as fresh as a rose. Well, obviously, drinking wasn't something they did too much in Jotunheim, at least Loki didn't. He didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing. He didn't like being the only one in the room with a hangover and, most probably even though he couldn't rely on his memory for that, something horribly idiotic to apologise for.

"Hey... Could you fetch me some clothes ?" he croaked, his eyelids heavy. "Just... Just pick anything."

He passed his hand over his face, the muscles of his face feeling sore and his stomach uneasy. He took a deep breath, grimaced as sound that wasn't fully human came out of his belly. Hunger and twisting sickness at the same time. Awesome.

Loki watched Thor carefully as he began to rise, his hands ready to catch him or help with what ever he needed. After all, the last thing he needed was the other prince sicking up all over himself or Loki, or even their bed. "Yes, alright." He murmured gently, carefully closing the curtains to the east as he stood. "Here, take this first." He handed Thor the glass of water and pitcher, looking at him calmly. "You really should have drank this last night, but the sooner you get water in your system, the better you'll feel." He was careful to keep his voice low and gentle. He remembered the first time he had drank, the mother of all hang overs following.

Yes, there was a good reason he had no more than a glass of wine at the feast.

Loki combed through Thor's trunk until he found some clothes befitting a prince on the day of his coming-of-age. They looked a tad small for the man, but a quick spell had them resized and he was handing them to Thor. "Here, if you like I can run down to the kitchen and fetch you something to eat." He offered, making his side of the bed up before picking out his own outfit. It was one of the newer ones Queen Frigga had made for him, dark and light greens playing about with gold trim, the fabric folding in ways flattering to his small frame.

Thor gulped down the water without a word. He didn't even give look to the clothes Loki had brought him, put them on slowly, his limbs feeling heavy and sore. He held himself against the bed frame as he put on the pants, trying not to fall over. He didn't, thank the gods. He didn't feel at all like to humiliate himself further in front of the other prince. As he laced up his shirt, put on the useless, impractical formal overcoat that came it, he tried to remember what had happened last night, in the fogs of his inebriated mind. It was hard, and he frowned, both from his inability to make the recollection and the headache that pounded in his head.

But then it hit him, hard, the strange smell the prince seemed to carry with him at all time, the texture of fabric under his fingers heavy with drink, the touch of soft lips against his own. Before he could stop himself, he blushed at the souvenir. He knew his tendency to act like an idiot under the influence, and this was, by far, one of the most benign things he had done during a feast, but it still felt weird. He didn't hate Loki, not as he used to, and somehow, the boy from Jotunheim had grown into something that he could call a friend, or maybe more. Loki was pretty, not exactly the same way a girl would have been, his features oddly angular accounting his young age, his body lithe and snakelike. Thor knew about men, how they sometimes preferred each other to the natural, reproductive company of women, calling their affections "the truest form of love", but he had never felt such an attraction himself. Of the Warriors Three, Fandral was the only one who had actually had a male partner, once, only for the sake of variety. Still, the situation was weird, and Thor was pretty sure he didn't want to discuss last night's shenanigans with Loki.

His stomach growled once again, cutting all reflexion. Most definitely sickness this time. Thor winced. Food seemed like a terrible idea. Hopefully Father wouldn't berate him too much for his present state. Thor liked to believe in miracles.

They left the apartments, Thor walking at a deliberately slow pace, his feet heavy. He didn't feel like to face Father, the royal court, queen Freyja and her intimidating brother, who, according to the rumors, devoted to her a love that crossed the boundaries of family and blood. He didn't feel like growing up and becoming the royal heir Asgard wished him to be, the husband of a Jotun prince he often didn't fully understand. Everything felt wrong and his head hurt. Too wrapped up in his dark thoughts and still foggy state of mind, Thor didn't take note of the unusual agitation in the palace and the precipitated footsteps of servants from the delegations of Svartalfheim and Vanaheim. It's only when the doors of the council room opened in front of him that he realized that something was not going according to plan.

Instead of the usual ceremonial that regulated the king's sessions, the numerous foreign dignitaries, noblemen and generals that formed the All-Father's circle of councilors were dispersed all over the room, taking loudly, anguish, rage or terror on their faces. What shocked Thor even more was the presence of the envoys of Svartalfheim, Queen Freyja and Prince Freyr. What were they doing here ? As far as he knew, no official negotiations had been scheduled, and even there, those usually took place in the throne room, with proper ceremonial and carefully delimited guidelines. What would they think of Asgard, seeing the disorder that seemed to rule the council room at this exact moment ?

Before he could even voice his concerns, silence fell over the room and all eyes turned to him. Thor tried not to swallow too loud, failed miserably, taking careful steps into the room. He gave a quick, questioning glance to Loki, who obviously knew nothing about any of this. His rather abrupt rejection of Freyja, who, next to Kvasir and her brother avoided his gaze at all costs, wasn't the cause of all this, right ? Was this some sort of test ?

Father's voice was a deep, impressive sound, something that commanded respect.

"Your coming of age ceremony might be belated. There has been... Unfortunate events that take precedence over the next few day's celebrations, I'm afraid."

Like if this had been rehearsed, the two dwarves Thor knew to be the smiths responsible to make his weapon stepped forward They had stayed relatively discrete since the arrival of their delegation, the Svartalfar known for their more reserved ways, especially given the rather flamboyant nature of the Vanir that had came at the same time. They spoke in turns with the same accent, the same intonations, but their voices drastically different in tone and sound. The tallest of the two wore a dark, long beard and impressive jewelry, spoke more than his companion, a chubby little fellow with red hair and a short beard. It took a moment for Thor to recognize them. Brokk and Eitri, that was their name, were brothers, the best smiths of the Nine Realms, their work so delicate and detailed that it was said that they could rival with the legendary sons of Ivaldi.

"The hammer we have made you has been stolen. We had finished it, named it Mjollnir, the crusher, as it holds the power to level mountains and destroy entire cities. But someone, someone from the cold came during the night, with the help of magic, and took it."

The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees lower, as Thor realized that all eyes had stopped fixing him, observing instead Loki who stood a few feet behind him. He turned slowly, unsure if he really wanted to know the rest. The ghost of a drunken kiss touched his dry lips, and his headache seemed to grow worse. This wasn't happening.

"But we are no experts in the matter. Perhaps we might want to ask a sorcerer how could anyone possibly break the magical defense of Asgard and escape from the ever-watching eyes of Heimdall. Perhaps we might want to ask what sympathies does Loki Laufeyson holds toward Thrym of Jotunheim and his rebellion."

Loki was silent as they walked, keeping his pace about even with Thor's. There was a heaviness to the air today that hadn't been present yesterday, a strange, suffocating feeling that made Loki want to just turn tail and hide back in their room for a while. the servants scurried about, guards watching them with harsh eyes where ever they went.

Oh, not them. They were watching him.

He swallowed hard as they entered the counsle room, staying just behind Thor and meeting those questioning blue eyes with his own confused and worried look. There were people yelling and shouting at eachother, pointing fingers and bemoaning some sort of loss. But as the doors shut behind them, suddenly an erie stillness fell across the room and all eyes turned his and Thor's way as they walked slowly up to the Allfather.

Delayed? What could have possibly delayed such an important ceremony? Not that Loki was looking forward to the wedding that would follow soon afterwards, but still, nothing short of ragnarock should have been able to stop this.

But as the dwarves came and explained, very blatently acusing Loki and his people, Loki felt as if the world had tipped and he was falling, his mind racing and his heart hammering as every eye turned on him.

"I-I know of Thyrm, he left with his group during the war, abandoned my father and his army and was banished from the kingdom. He is a renigade lord. I did not even know he was still alive." For some reason, the look in Thor's eyes was what hurt him the most, and he shook his head, begging the other prince to believe him. "I have no knowledge of any spell that could possibly blind the Allseeing Heimdall. What ever it is, it would take more power than i would hope to earn in my life to do such a thing." He could manage small tricks and transfigurations, but there was no way he could even try to pull off such a thing. He looked desperately at Odin and Frigga, then turning back to Thor. Surely they believed him?

Loki's small plead for his innocence was met with a flow of chatter between the counsellors and dignitaries. Practionners of magic were something the realm never held in great regards, especially given the role magicians had played in the last war with Jotunheim. It was against the Aesir values of a true gentleman to use such trickery in combat, and the frightful use Laufey had made of the Casket of Ancient had shocked more than one general of Asgard. The king himself had extensive knowledge in magical matters, but never would he had used it in a war.

Thor's reaction was immediate. He took Loki by the arm, bringing him next to him, facing Father and the dwarves. Anger made his face contourt in ugly shapes, but he didn't care. This was a matter of honor.

"Brokk and Eitri of Svartalfheim, are you insinuating that Loki is behind this machinery? Do you not know that he is to reign over Asgard with the next All-Father? This boy has done nothing and it is a jest to the crown to think him guilty of such treachery!"

Anger made his voice powerful as the roar of a lion, silencing the whole room. That's when he realised that he had been gripping Loki's arm too hard, releasing him instantly as he found out, sheer surprise softening his features momentarly.

Loki gasped lightly when he was pulled so close to Thor, but curled into his hold immeadately, almost hidden against the large warrior's side. His intended's roars certainly quited the crowd, and Loki found his heart jumping a little. Thor was protecting him, just daring anyone to utter another word on the topic, daring them to accuse Loki any further. The hold on his arm slowly became painful. but Thor seemed to realize, releasing him and looking at him with those soft, gentle blue eyes. Loki met them, a silent thank you on his lips. Because it seemed everyone but Thor and his parents seemed insistant on blaiming him and taking the price from his flesh.

"Then, good prince of Asgard, perhaps it might be preferable for the Jotun to prove his good will to the All-Father not with words, as, unfortunately, his kin are well know for their past broken oaths, but with actions?"

The soft, womanly voice of the ambassador of Vanaheim created a stark contrast with the near screams of Thor. He slipped from his place next to the queen Freyja, moving with that flowerlike elegance of gesture proper to the Vanir. He made his way next to Loki, placing one of his slender hands of the prince's shoulder.

"I do not doubt this boy's innocence for one second, but how can anyone here present be persuaded of the same without material proof?" he asked, adressing Father. "I am sure the Jotun is ardent to prove himself worthy of the trust Asgard and the All-Father."

A murmur of approbation passed through the counsellors. The king and the queen stayed silent. Thor had found in Kvasir an unlikely ally, and he was glad, although a bit surprised, given the circumstances. Had the Vanir changed their mind or was Kvasir only acting out of honor ?

"I have the most utmost faith that Loki has done nothing to harm the realm, but Kvasir has spoken the truth. The dwarves must have satisfaction. Brokk and Eitri of Svartalfheim, what could the Jotun do for you to stop doubting him?" One of the high ranking courtiers of Asgard asked.

Brokk stepped closer to Father, eyeing quickly Loki on the way. He didn't look satisfied with this arrangement, but it wasn't his place to question the king's decision.

"We shall sew his mouth shut until Mjolnir is retrieved, as all Jotuns are liars and twist words for trickery and magic. Only then we shall be at peace."

"Is this not too harsh of a test for so small a boy, dwarf?"

Kvasir's eyebrow had arched unperceptibly as Brokk had spoken. Such propositions, Thor knew, seemed pretty shoking to Vanir sensibilities, who always prefered diplomatic, non-violent solutions to corporal punishments.

"The Jotun has not been proved guilty. Why have him submit to such a punishment? Let's not also forget the missing hammer, which is putting the kingdom in a delicate position. Maybe shall he be sent to retrieve it, as the Vanir royalty served for countless time the will of the All-Father to prove their good will after the Great War?"

Thor looked at Loki, his gaze questioning. Kvasir was no fool, and his propositions made sense, given the fact that the dwarves wouldn't be satisfied with smaller a task. Retrieving Mjolnir was no little business, and even the bravest warrior would shiver at the idea of facing the frost giant Thrym in combat. Would Loki leave for Jotunheim, Thor wasn't sure he would come back alive, especially given the animosity between Laufey and Thrym.

When Kvasir aproached him, Loki wanted to do nothing more than to shrink away. He forced himself to hold still as the Vanir spoke, though the dwarve's words made him flinch, his eyes wide and a hand flying to cover his lips. They wanted to do what? What good would sewing his lips shut do? He looked more childlike than he had since arriving here when he turned his eyes on Kvasir and King Odin and then turned them to Thor. Surely it would not be allowed?

Then there was a different suggestion, that he go and get the hammer himself. He removed his hand and bit his lip. If Thyrm found out who he was, there was no doubt that he would be held for randsom, killed or worse.

But it was obvious that doing this would be the only way to prove his aligence, he was being examined thoroughly by the ambassadors and lords, their eyes boring into him. He swallowed slowly and met Thor's gaze, finally giving a little nod. "I will retrieve Mjolnir."

"Loki..." Odin stepped foward and simply examined him for a moment. Loki had the strangest feeling, not for the first time, that he was as open as a book to the AllFather, his thoughts laid out in the open, his feelings and worries bared for the man to see. He stood stright beneath the gaze, swallowing hard and giving another nod.

"Very Well. Loki Laufeyson, you shall leave in two hours. That will give you enough time to pack." Odin ordered, his voice booming through out the Hall. "Does this please you, Brokk and Eitri of Svartalfheim?"

"It does not please me, Allfather!" Frejya suddenly piped up, coming forward slowly, her dress flowing behind her and her delecate lips pursed into a frown as he glared at Loki. "We are sending a Jotun back to his home world. Is it not true that the _monsters_ did _not_ want to accept the terms of the peace treaty? Don't you think it is more than a little convient that it was this boy's kind that took the ceremonial piece?"

_Monster_.

The word hit the young prince hard, his hands clenching at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to scream and rage and show them exactly how monstrous he could be. But that would do nothing, but prove their points. He managed a calm look though looking at the Queen as Odin spoke, his voice booming through the hall. "You have over stepped your bounds! Questioning not only the honor of Loki and Thor, but of my Queen and I!" The words made Freyja back down immediately, bowing her head submissively and stepping back from the king.

"Please excuse the Queen's outburst, Allfather. She is only very concerned with the well-being of our allies here in Asgard. " Freyr's voice was surprisingly soft, given his height and stature. He bowed slowly, giving a dignified impression to the king of Asgard, although his teeth were pressed together with anger. He did not like when old men, kings or not, addressed his dearest sister in such a way, but there was nothing else to do. Their status as guest put them in a dangerous position, and no matter how rude Odin of Asgard acted, they could only take it in stride and smile politely as long as they stayed in Valhalla.

Thor closed his eyes, tried to control his anger as Kvasir spoke with his usual elegant words, twitching them just right

With Loki volunteering to retrieve the hammer, the council was raised and dignitaries, generals and noblemen poured out of the room like a wave. No doubt would the new be all over the kingdom in a few days, causing great harm the already fragile peace with Jotunheim and giving even more reasons to the most traditionalist houses of the realm to wage a war of words against the alliance. Thor stood where he was, taking Loki's hand in his own, anxious. He couldn't simply let him go back to Jotunheim alone to fight against Thrym.

Brokk left without another word to the Allfather, giving Thor a look of silent anger, muttering something in Elvish the prince, even though he had never truly learnt the language, understood right away. Dina utinu en lokirim. Thor gritted his teeth, willing his fists to stay still. Today was no day to make yet another diplomatic incident. The Vanir, Freyja, Freyr and Kvasir, were the last to exit the room, and he quietly avoided Freyja's gaze, the sting of humiliation obviously still pretty vivid in the words she had spoken against Loki. It bothered him, how pretty she still managed to be even as she spat poison against someone Thor had grown into considering a friend.

As the door closed, he took a deep breath. His honor dictated him to intervene, as he feared for Loki's life. There was no way in Helheim he would let him go alone on such a quest, in Jotunheim of all places. Loki might have been raised there, but he was in no way prepared to fight out there, in the cold, endless icelands in the south of the realm, where the renegade lord held his mock-capital. As Father raised from his seat, he spoke up, his voice strong from resolve.

"Let me go with him, as it is my hammer that was stolen and I know in my heart that he is not guilty of the theft although I cannot prove it."

Mother was the first to react looking at him with something that looked like sadness and endearment. Thor felt something in his chest sink. It hurt him to make her sick with worry, as he knew his departure would cause, but he simply couldn't let Loki fight alone, no, it was a matter of friendship and honor. Father nodded slowly in understanding.

"... Very well, Thor."

Something like relief washed over him as they walked out of the council room, and he looked at Loki with a timid smile. They would have to fight great dangers, but at least they would do it together.

As all the guests began to scatter and leave, Loki was relieved to feel a large hand encircling his own. His head whipped around as Thor spoke of coming with him, his newly cut hair whirling around his face as he studies the man. He wouldn't object, not now at least, as the Allfather and Mother appeared weary from so much arguing and troubles befalling the court. He simply bowed to them, murmuring a promise that he would return the moment Mjolnir was in his hands, and that he would make sure Thor was safe.

"You don't have to do this, you know." He murmured gently, though he small hand had not released Thor's, a small shudder going through him as he realized what he was going to do. "Thank you though, for standing up for me." That was something else Thor really didn't have to do. Loki sighed as they came to the chambers and looked up at the other prince shyly. For once, he really didn't know what to say, so instead he stood on his tip toes and brushed a slight kiss against Thor's cheek.

After that, he moved into the room, a plan formulating in his mind. He could probably sneak himself in...

He looked at Thor for a moment, frowning a little. How was he supposed to sneak in an Aesir giant?

"We'll have to go in disguise, I hope you know that. Against this group we won't be able to try and use force." He said out loud, picking out a couple of tunics and things and changing them into dresses. He didn't tell Thor what he was planning though, instead he concentrated hard and shifted. It wasn't much of a difference; his hips became a little wider, his form even more feminine, his face soft, less angular and a small set of breasts appeared on his chest, beneath his tunic.

"What do you think?" His very much female voice asked as he turned, offering a smile.

It took Thor a few moments to be able to properly formulate a coherent sentence. His hand over his cheek where Loki had kissed him, he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it pnce again. He had grown more and more aware that things with Loki never followed a predictable path, but this was by far the most unexpected thing that had happened so far.

Loki, normally, was not what somebody would actually call very masculine, yet there was a wirelike quality to his physionomy, still young and yet losing this roundness of features proper to children. The girl in front of him wasn't like this, not one bit. She (or he ? Whatever...) wasn't beautiful the same way Freyja was, no round, large breast and impressive curves, but there was indeed something oddly attractive in her boyish hips, her lithe little wrists and her slender neck. It was still definitely Loki, the same glint in his green eyes, the same petite frame and paperlike skin, and it felt weird.

So... That was the plan?

"You're um... You're going to fight Thrym like this?"

Had Loki been, let's say, Volstagg, the idea of going to fight one of the most frightful warriors in the Nine Realms disguised as a woman would have made Thor laugh. But he looked serious, and Thor clearly hadn't had that in mind when he had volunteered to go with him to Jotunheim.

"Thor, we are one small, adolescent magician and one large, now-adult warrior, going up against a renegade Jotun lord and his army of anywhere between four hundred to two thousand. We aren't going to be able to fight this one." Loki explained gently continuing his packing and changing his staff into a golden bracelet and setting it on his wrist.

"Now, it's likely he'll be using the hammer for ceremonial reasons or even as a sort of decoration. We'll have to get on his good side some how." Loki frowned a little and shrunk his pack putting it in his pocket. He looked at Thor with a sigh. "I suppose we could try and go as a pair of princesses. There were rumors in Jotunhiem about him looking for a bride, I assumed they were to scare the children into staying in their beds at night."

Very suddenly he circled Thor, pursing his lips a little. "I could probably glamour you to look like a woman, but you would still have to wear a dress. I can change someone's perception, but I can not make the eye see what is not there." He was quite serious about this, he intended to keep Thor and himself well alive, and being that women were so valued in Jotunhiem, it was the best way to go about it.

"We'll sneak in, play nice, get Mjolnir and sneak back out." Loki offered transforming his clothes into something a little more flattering on his now feminine frame, the leather straps changing to delicate gold and silver chains, a sheer veil covering from his nose down to his chin.

"Unless you have a better idea." The words were gentle, not mocking, but curious. If there was a better route, Loki would be happy to listen and plan other wise.

Thor had to admit himself beaten, and he sighed, grabbed one of the dresses, inspecting it with a quick glance. It displeased him to acknowledge it, but Loki was the one who actually knew best about the place they would need to go to, about Thrym and about his fortress lost in the snow. He didn't know much about the Snowlands, not as much as he should have; studying had never been his forte. He closed his eyes, trying to put the right words together. It was easier that he thought it would be.

"Fine..."

He presented Loki with his open palm, still unsure but trying very hard not to show any apprehension. Using magic objects was one thing, but relying entirely on Jotun magic not to get caught by one of the most dangerous warriors in the Nine Realms, even though it was Loki, made him feel a bit unsure. Weren't Jotuns soulless monsters who used blood-magic, that dangerous, dangerous magic, whose power could break the all-mighty branches of Yggdrasil if used incorrectly? He knew he could trust Loki, but he didn't know if he could trust magic, the same one that had controlled the Casket of Ancient Winters and destroyed so many of Asgard's armies. He swallowed slowly, made a half-smile.

"We'll do it your way. Let's get this over so I'll get us some proper swords, just in case. Jotunheim is waiting for us."

He took Loki's now delicate, feminine hand, intertwined their fingers together, waiting for the strange tickle of magic over his skin. It couldn't be that bad, couldn't it ?

Loki couldn't help the soft, relieved smile he gave. "Together." He agreed in his now feminine voice, his magic reaching out and setting a glamour over the man. He wouldn't feel any different, or look different if he looked himself up and down, but as Loki took Thor to the mirror, it revealed something completely different. Gone was the broad warrior, what now stood in the mirror was a thin woman, with a generous set of hips. His golden hair appeared silky and slightly curled at the ends, his lips full and pouting, his face slightly more rounded, softer.

"There, he won't glance twice at such a gorgeous maiden." Loki laughed softly, turning to continue packing, drawing the bag closed. He rolled his head back a little to stretch the muscles, looking back at Thor. "Are you ready, M'lady?" Loki asked with a little bow, smirking teasingly and offering his hand.

"Do not force it," Loki advised as they walked across the rainbow bridge, stopping to show Thor how to carry himself. "You are supposed to give an air of confidence, you are a woman who warriors from all around want to have on their arm. Hold your head high, shoulders back, and walk with purpose, my spell shall do the rest." Thor was too stiff, bumbling about beneath the protection of the glamour, Loki took several moments to show him how to walk, what to do with his hands while talking or simply standing still, and how to look un-intimidating, meek, with head bowed and body relaxed.

Loki's movements were fluid and graceful, because he had been doing this for years. Some times he and his sister would sneak into the city for a break from lessons and war talk, disguised as young women. Being that women were such a rarity in Jotunheim, no one would dare harm or accuse them, it was one of the few times Lok was able to walk freely among people.

He led the way to the Bifrost, bowing to The Allmother and AllFather when they met them. He explained the plan carefully, earning a slow nod from Odin. "Tis a clever plan, you will send word if anything goes awry."

"Of course, sir." Loki assured, curtsying for practice.

Thor bowed awkwardly to Father and Mother, unable to properly coordinate his limbs. His body felt the same, and yet he struggled to move, as he knew he looked nothing like himself. He didn't like dresses, how they flowed around his legs and how low his collar felt over his chest. Thor hadn't taken a proper look at himself after Loki's little magic trick. He wasn't sure he would have been able to bear it; he was pretty sure that the lady he was supposed to look like was one of those large, strong and fearful women that ended up in the ranks of the Valkyries. The last sparks of seidhr still made his skin tickle and it felt odd, as it wasn't anything he was used to. The more he spent time with Loki, the more he came to wonder if he would ever get used to it, how the prince used it for all and everything. He sighed.

Father gave him an undecipherable look as they left him and Mother standing next to the palace gates, bound to cross the rainbow bridge alone, on foot. The night had set unusually early on that day, giving them plenty of darkness to hide in. The prince of Asgard wondered for a moment if this coincidence was not the king's doing, one of his typical, indirect way of wishing him luck. They had left the horses in the stables, for discretion, but Thor regretted not having properly apologized to Lightning, who would not accompany them on this adventure. Jotunheim. The souvenir of snow and wind against his face submerged him, and he remembered Loki, in his furs, looking so young and so blue, his skin turning into this pale, paper-like white under king Laufey's touch.

They walked for what seemed like hours, under the stars, so close and yet so far from one another. Thoughts rushed themselves inside his skull, making him dizzy. All Thor could think about was the dark nights of the Jotunheim from the songs of his ancestors, the frightful Thrym and the men he had taken to their graves during the war. What if they got caught? Would he be able to defend Loki as his duty ordered him to? His now delicate and undeniably feminine hand in Loki's own forgotten, he remembered the soft sound of Mother's voice reassuring him as he asked "Where has Father gone?"

Before he even knew it, they were there, standing in front of the great Heimdall, waiting for his ray of light to send them through space and time. He looked as tall as ever, large hands over his swords, his eyes stoic. Nothing escaped his gaze, or so the legends said, and he was older than the present All-Father, maybe even older than the precedent one and the one before him. Now that he thought of it, Thor couldn't decide if it was reassuring or terrifying.

"You are going back to Jotunheim," the guardian of the realm said simply, leading them inside.

Thor exchanged a glance with Loki, nodded. Jotunheim.

Heimdall slowly placed his large sword in its sheath, closing his eyes, his dark skin glowing under the light of Yggdrasil. And then, in a twirl of light, they were gone.

As the light of Yggdrasil shone on his face, Loki closed his green eyes, imagining the everlasting snow of his home world. With the first breath he took, Loki could have cried. The welcoming chill of the winterlands stinging his lungs as he breathed in as deep as he could. He was home, he could feel the icy wind nipping against his cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth and sun of Asgard.

Speaking of Asgard, he turned to Thor, pulling a furred cloak from his bag and draping it around the warrior's shoulders. "The Guards will have been alerted to our presence, we must not alert them to our plan." He whispered into Thor's ear before turning to examine the great castle before them. It was huge with glittering ice covering the surface, protecting from the wind and storms.

"Halt!" The deep voice of a jotun guard had Loki turning, a meek, rather distressed look plastered to his features. "Please, sirs! My lady is freezing, she may catch her death! We have come to see the Lord Thyrm!" Loki was a wonderful actor, forcing himself to shiver and look up at his former people with large, pleading eyes.

After a mear moment of taking in the two delicate women, the Jotun - Whom Loki assumed was the captain of the guards - removed his large cloak and carefully draped it over the two forieng women, it being more than large enough. "Alert our lord," He called out to the remaining Jotuns, carefully leading the two dirrectly into the castle.

Thor shivered under the freezing air. This place was different than the frozen wasteland he had seen when he had descended to Jotunheim with Father. As the guards lead them inside the castle, he didn't even try to act like a lady, fascinated by the ice castle in which he had penetrated. He looked around, not sure if he was to be impressed or terrified, the glint of the setting sun creating rainbows and plays of light all over the heavy, magical ice. Fire and blood from the armies of Asgard and Jotunheim both had soiled the ground of this place, Thor could feel it as he marched on. The walls were destroyed by large chunks, the irregular form of Thrym's castle elevating itself up to the dark skies.

The legends spoke of the destroyed capital, the once large seat of Laufey's power, a wonder of the dark magic of the Jotuns and the countless lives of workers that had suffered during its construction. Most of it had been destroyed during the war, or so said his magisters. This wasn't Utgarda, but it managed to send a shiver down Thor's spine, of what exact nature he knew not. Was it the cold? Was it fright? Was it some kind of twisted excitement? He couldn't tell.

The Jotun guards were impressive, incredibly tall, yet somehow looked different from the court Thor had seen surrounding Laufey and Loki. They didn't wear armor, seemed unaffected by the polar winds that made him shiver under the large cape thrown over his now narrow shoulders. They had markings over their bodies, just like the rest of their kind, but, unlike Jotun nobility, had none of the large helmets Thor had seen among the Jotun envoys from before. It probably was something reserved to the rich and powerful, even though it had seemed somehow ridiculously primitive to him when he had seen them for the first time.

The hall in which they were dragged was a small thing, at least to Thor's eyes, used to the large, finely decorated rooms of Valhalla. Enchanted ice mixed itself with black stone that seemed to glow of a nearly imperceptible blue light. Furniture was scarce, an empty table that seemed to serve for meals as well as for council. Thrym wasn't known for his taste in luxury, and the spartan decoration made Thor wonder how could he display such distaste for material goods and such greed for power.

He didn't have time to think more. Before he knew it, one of the large hands of the Jotun guards was on his shoulder, effectively stopping him. No one touched thus the son of Odin, but Thor was not in a situation where he could permit himself to lash out and break the Jotun's arm. He gritted his teeth, looked straight ahead.

The Frost Giant Thrym stood in front of them, sitting on the dark wooden throne in the middle of the room, eyeing the two maidens presented to him with a satisfied smile. He was tall, taller than most Jotuns, his eyes a sharp, piercing bright red. He wore simple traditional Jotun clothing, his blue chest bare and covered by marking and scars. During the war, Thrym had grown into a bit of a legend among Asgardian soldiers, telling stories about how the frightful giant would take down dozens of men armed only with his large battle axe, killing until the ground beneath his feet turned red.

"Welcome to my humble castle, Ladies, as it is not in my ways to let such beautiful creatures perish out there in the snow. May I ask how you came here, and what is the motive of your visit?"

He smiled, but there was menace in his voice, his hand loosely but clearly wrapped around the handle of the large axe that laid against the throne. Thor gulped, looked at Loki, ignorant as to what they were to do now. He didn't feel like to get unmasked just yet.

"See, ever since the traitor king Laufey surrendered like a coward to the Aesir, I have been forced to always be on my guard and sometimes worry over unfamiliar faces, no matter how fair they might be."

The sight of the great Jotun lord had Loki curtsying deeply, urging Thor to do the same before he stepped forward to speak. "Tis a breath taking structure, my lord." His gentle, soothing voice carried appealingly over the chilled air, though the air here was far warmer than the vicious winds outside. "Were I able to stand the cold, i would admire it long into the night with such radiance, illuminated by the moon." He gave another curtsy before moving back to Thor, his mind formulating a plan as quickly as Thyrm experessed his distrust. "Forgive us, my lord, for such an abrupt intrusion on your lands, please, allow me to explain. My name is Ikolni Nyfdoittr and this is my elder sister, Rothona, we are princesses that come from a small kingdom in Vanir, to offer our allegiance to you." His words were cleverly placed, weaving and smooth even as his body shivered, as if what he was saying was true.

"This sham of a marriage between the Jotun and Asgard prince is doing nothing but bringing shame to the whole of the nine relams, especially to the Jotuns, for having such a so called king - One who would buckle and surrender with such ease -, and to we of Vaninheim, who were denied our own peace right." He bit back the bile that threatened to rise as he said such lies about his own father. Now was not the time for this. "We would have sent word ahead, or brought gifts, but for fear of being noticed by the Allfather, we brought only what was necessary." he looked up into those piercing eyes, willing his own to be soft and pleading. "Please don't send us away, my lord. Father will be ever so cross with us. We have no weapons, nothing but a few articles of clothing, and if you doubt us, you may search our bag." He offered, his voice trembling expertly as he sent a 'worried' look to Thor, though there was a hidden message in his look, in his deep green eyes. Just play along.

The guards looked to Thyrm, obviously having bought the attractive creature's tale, but willing to send them away if their lord willed it. It all rested on the giant's decision.

Thrym's smile turned into a grin, and he rose slowly, peering over the maidens. He was even taller this way, monstrous in his height and features, at least to Thor's eyes. As the giant walked forward, the prince tried not to stare at the large scar that ran sideways over his chest, failed miserably. It was deep, ugly looking, skin turning from its natural soft blue hue to dark, twisted purple. Thank the gods, the renegade Lord didn't seem to notice it at all, only looking at Loki, taking his (her?) hand as he spoke to the disguised Jotun.

"I might be a warrior but I am not without manners. I trust your word, my Lady, please stay with me here until we find a satisfying answer to your father's kind offer. I hope you'll have the time to see the northern lights, as I guess there are not so many in Vanaheim."

Thor felt anger rising slowly inside him, for what exact reason he knew not. Coming here reminded him painfully of Loki's true nature, under that mask of magic he wore at all times in Asgard, and his whole body tensed as Thrym politely kissed Loki's white hand, a dangerous grin still on his face. Of course his friend stayed perfectly put and he did, of course Loki hadn't, wouldn't betray him or Father, but doubt had wormed its way into his mind and it made his hands ball into fists under the large sleeves of his dress. He felt ridiculous and powerless, clueless as to what Loki's plan was and what to do next.

He didn't speak a word. He didn't need to. The faster they got to know where the hammer was, the faster they could get out of here.

Thrym led them himself to where they were to spend the night, as politics were never discussed directly after a guest's arrival, even in Jotunheim. The giant kept Loki's hand in his own as they walked in the eerie corridors of his ice castle, talking mindless chatter Thor didn't even pay attention to. The whole construction seemed unreal to Thor's eyes, old ice and stone and snow, enchanted so many years ago with the powerful magic of the Casket. The doors, the walls, the floor had this same spartan feeling that Thor had denoted in the hall in which they had encountered Thrym.

"I am aware that the journey to come here must have been a tiring one, but please do attend tonight's super, as many of my generals and counselors will be present and will be delighted to meet my Vanir guests."

He bowed deeply, still obscenely large as he did, and left, his footsteps silent in the hallway. Thor gave Loki an empty look, pushed the door of their room open, anger nearly radiating from his skin. It's only when the door closed and that they were completely alone that he spoke up.

"Now what ?" Thor said. "What's your clever little plan now ?"

Being back in a familiar setting had Loki feeling better than he had in a long time, even if he was lying to the face of one of the most powerful Jotuns in all of the nine realms. The chill on his skin, the familiar smells, even if it was not his home, he could still detect the smell of flowers and heady incense. He smiled pleasently when a gentle kiss was bestored to his hand, though the hand holding his could have easily engulfed his upper body. Thyrm was cordial, even walking slowly enough for Loki, keeping 'her' pale hand balanced gently in his royal blue one.

They spoke softly of things even Loki did not remember. He spoke of the castle and how it was brought forth, of the many wars he had fought, and how he left the Jotun king due to his incompitance. Loki almost forgot to smile at that point, but kept the look carefully plastered in place. After all, being back in the realm of ice and snow did bring back the longing for his family even more.

"Thank you again, my lord, for your hospitality and graciousness." Loki curtsied as Thyrm bowed, watching him walk away with that fake smile plastered to his face before turning to Thor and walking in the room after him.

"Ah, the plan is simple, my friend." Loki said softly, moving to examine an exqusite vase with fresh frost lilies set in them, smelling them softly and remembering how his sister braided them into her hair. "Tonight's banquet will be to reviel the hammer, as such an achievement will not be kept quiet. He will reviel the hammer, or reviel the whereabouts, we grab it in the middle of the night and we're gone before morning." Loki explained softly, turning to Thor and smiling bitterly. "I'm sorry, if i had been given more time to plan, i promise i would have something more concrete, but for now we just have to take it as we go, play it by ear.

"Now, if you don't want to give us away, you must learn to curtsy and how to speak as a woman would." Loki grinned brightly. "Have you ever played spy, or and war games as a child? Pretend we are playing one of those. There is only one rule, 'don't get caught'."

After a careful hour of training Thor to be a semi-proper lady, there was a knock at the door. Loki was quick to answer with a gentle, "come in!"

It was a young servant boy who stood in their doorway, fumbling a little with the bundles in his arms. "Our Lord Thyrm wishes you to stay warm on your journey here, and would like you to accept these fine furs as a welcoming gift." The boy managed, laying two exquisitely made dresses out on the large bed. The smaller of the two was white, the fur turned to the inside to keep as much heat in as possible, and the other was a golden brown of the style, pinched tight at the waist and flowing at the bottom with long sleves and cloaks to match.

"Please, thank Lord Thyrm for this, we will also do so personally at dinner." Loki said softly with another false smile, watching as the boy bowed before scampering out of the room, leaving them to change.

"The washroom seems to be there, you go ahead and change first, The spell on you should resize the dress if needed." Loki offered, handing Thor the golden furs.

Thor frowned. He had gotten down the basics of what a lady was supposed to act like, yes, but his mind and will were not there. This was no game, and Loki kept his cool while he, on the other hand, only wished to get his hammer and beat this Jotun soldier who preached for war and destruction. He took the dress from Loki's hands, gave him a look, sighed.

"I hope for the both of us that this is going to work."

Jotun food upset Thor in ways that were hard to describe. Of course, it wasn't inedible, like the legends said, the demons from the cold eating only freshly killed rodents without even cooking them, and he was glad for it, but the shock was more of a taste thing. It felt weird, to eat this bitter, odd food without any spice Thor could identify, vegetables he had never seen in his life and this weird, warm alcohol that the Jotuns seemed to drink like if it was water. He mainly ate the meat, something that tasted like roasted pig but had a completely different texture, not risking himself to ask questions. He gave a sideway glance, spotting Loki engrossed in a conversation with Thrym, something that sounded like the mindless chatter of courtesans and that Thor had always hated in Valhalla. He couldn't do anything about it. He could only hope that at one point or another, Thrym would tell them about this great hammer he had just stolen from under the nose of the All-Father.

The generals and allies of the giant were just as impressive as Thrym himself, large, scarred men whose blue skin glistened under the light of the fire that warmed the room. For a moment, he wondered how Loki could manage to act so naturally in the presence of such off-putting creatures. His own stupidity hit him hard. Loki was a Jotun.

Many eyes stared at him for a while, observing him with something that shifted between curiosity, disgust or even lust. It took a while for Thor to remember that he had been turned into a woman for this little mission in Jotunheim, and that the Jotuns were staring at the chest he didn't actually possess. Would they know? Would he able to fight them if they did? It made him mad, and he ate voraciously the weird food he had been given, only not to see the Jotuns staring at him.

He hoped, for the both of them, that Loki would talk Thrym into giving them the hammer. The battles of words wasn't something he was gifted in, unlike Loki. Thor, his mind a bit hazy from the strong, unidentified drink that they had been served, clutched his knife, out of anger or silent fear, he didn't really know. He needed, against his palm, the large handle of a weapon.

Dressed in warm fur and eating familiar foods had Loki relaxed beyond belief. He ate the food daintily as always, but he didn't take the time to examine it as he did on Asgard, something he probably should have done to appear more Vanir-like. But he just couldn't help it, he had missed the familiar tastes of food grown in Jotun, his mouth had been watering since they entered the dining room!

When Loki notice more of the Jotun's examining Thor and his fierce appetite, the Jotun in disguise cleared his throat softly. "Alas, you must forgive my sister. This is the most important duty father has ever given us. So riddled with nerves, she has not eaten in days." He excused lightly, taking a small sip of the drink. "Thank you, Lord Thyrm. The food is wonderful. I've always enjoyed trying new things." He said softly, though before he could continue their light conversations, one of the older commanders laugher broke out, his large blue hand across his sixth goblet of drink.

"Thyrm! My old friend, tell us! Did you really snatch the ceremonial hammer from the walls of Valhalla?" His rich Jotun voice called out to The Lord of the lands. The words brought every eye in the hall to Thyrm, Loki's green eyes widen with faux surprise .

"Really? Such a Masterful feat!" His gentle voice exclaimed, looking up at Thyrm. "Might we see it, my lord?"

Thor nearly choked on his food as he heard about Thrym's stealing of his soon-to-be hammer. What came out of his mouth sounded more like a cough, and no one really paid attention to it. Loki's obvious talent for conversation, a thing the prince of Asgard had so far been unaware of, made every single Jotun in the room look at the dainty little maiden he had taken the appearence of with interested eyes. He spoke overtly, with his hands making delicate gesture, so painfully lady-like Thor wondered if this was really the first time Loki transfigured into a woman. The sorcerer didn't seem to notice, though, his movements flowing like water, the image of a perfect courtesan. Thor gritted his teeth as Thrym spoke up.

"Oh, this was but a simple matter of timing! See, the Aesir, feeling all mighty and great in their golden citadel, have the nasty habit of believing that their false sense of superiority will keep them from any form of attack. Oh, how wrong they are. See, I had... Unexpected help from an unlikely source. I wish I could share it with you, companion, so we could all drink for our most gracious benefactor, but I am affraid he desires to remain anonymous."

The warrior smirked, took a sip from his drink, obviously satisfied with himself. He turned to Loki, caressed his hand with the tip of his fingers. Thor wondered, for a brief instant, if it really mattered for him to break their cover if only to take attach the giant's palm to the table with a knife.

"I can't tell you more on the subject, my Lady. Please accept my sincerest apologies. Maybe you'll wish to see the hammer in question after the meal, as I have left it somewhere I am sure no one will think of finding it. Security, you see. Spies are everywhere."

Thor felt himself grown hot with anticipation and adrenaline under the furs of his dress. This was it. This was their chance!

The giants grumbled lightly at not being able to see the Hammer, but listened anyway. Loki carefully hid his shock. Who in the nine realms may have helped Thyrm? He knew of no allies of the Jotun that were present at the feast. He smiled anyway, forcing himself to stay still as those large fingers trailed over his smaller, delicate ones, a shy smile laying on his lips. "I would love to see it, if you would allow me, Lord Thyrm." He murmured gently, not daring to glance at Thor. "Tis made by the dwarves', is it not? I've always wanted to see something made by such masterful hands. It must be a wonderful piece."

As Loki spoke, he hesitantly offered his delicate to the larger Jotun, wrapping his fingers softly around the two of Thyrm's fingers he could fit in it, a careful blush settling on his cheeks. It was difficult, bringing up such a look, but all he had to do was think of the kiss Thor had pressed to his lips last night.

He released the man's hand and shifted slightly, bringing his cape to rest over his hands, looking up bashfully, "Your skin... I'm sorry, my hands are not accustomed to the chill." He explained gently, before turning to Thor. "Are you fairing well, my dear sister?" He asked gently, hoping to take some of the eyes off of him. It was a little unnerving to feel so many gazes on him, as if they could see past their disguises.

Thor nodded slowly, unable to utter a word. His thoughts spun in his head, the hammer so close yet so unattainable, how much he wished to beat the monsters into a bloody pulp. He gritted his teeth, angry at his own weakness. Loki's scheme involved discretion and cunning, something Thor had never been gifted for. Staying silent was really for the best.

"Is your sister a mute, Lady Ikolni?" asked Thrym, an amused smirk on his lips. "She has not said a word since she arrived here. I do hope that it isn't with her that your Father wishes me to negotiate, as she hasn't shown too much wit so far."

Thor bit back an insult, trying his best to appear as lady-like as possible when he spoke, his palms securely folded over his lap. No harsh movements and speak slowly and clearly.

"I am not. Apologies if I have offended you, Lord Thrym. In Vanaheim, we prefer silence over mindless chatter."

Thrym frowned, straightened himself up on the seat he occupied at the center of the table. He hadn't liked the answer, obviously, and Thor tried not to grin smugly, only a small twist of the mouth escaping him. He was no Vanir poet when it came to conversing, and this small victory meant a lot. If he couldn't fight with his fists, surely he could fight with words. He continued, purposely taking Loki's delicate hand between his own.

"My sister..." He paused. This felt so weird. "My sister is the cleverest, so it is her task to speak on behalf of Father."

He looked at Loki, trying to tell him by some sort of silent way that they needed to hurry. Heimdall had always stayed true to his word, that he would knowingly never let an outsider cross the Bifrost. The longer they stayed, the more chance they had to be unmasked. They needed to convince Thrym to show them the hammer, and do it fast.

"Sure, you Vanir women are bright pretty things," said one of Thrym's generals, tension lifting instantly. "Back in the old days, us Jotuns would got all the way to Vanaheim just to look for a little while at one of those circles of girls who sang and recited poetry naked on the shores of the Vana river!"

The Jotuns laughed, but Thrym stayed silent. Thor tried not to glare at him. Once again, they needed to stay discreet.

"Forgive us, my lord, I should have said, my sister can be a bit shy. She had a terrible stutter as a child and was mocked for it. She only speaks when she must." Loki added, patting Thor's hand, as if consoling him, but it was to show that he got the message. He squeezed the hand in his and relaxed in his chair with a dainty yawn, covering his mouth prettily and batting his eyes, as if blinking away sleep.

"I could not eat another bite, my lord. I wish we had such interesting foods in Vanaheim. But I do grow tired from such a long day, despite the wonderful company." Loki's delicate hand trailed over the Jotun lord's, the touches as light as butterfly kisses, his green eyes focused solely on Thyrm. "Might we go see the Hammer now, my lord? Before I retire for the night." He had to do this carefully. He couldn't appear too interested, after all, or they definitely would be caught. "Or, if you are busy or tired as well, I'm sure it can wait until the morn."

Thrym made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat, appraising once more Loki's clever disguise. He finished his drink in one large gulp, clunked his cup on the table with a large move of his arm. As on cue, all conversation stopped. The Jotuns listened to their commander.

"It is unheard of for a Jotun lord to keep a damsel waiting. It will be a pleasure for me to show it to you, as we are to be ally, and any good alliance has to start with trust. While it would please me to show it to you both, I believe your sister has no interest in such... mindless matters."

He gave Thor a clever smirk, taking Loki's hand in his own. Nails pressed deep into his palm as he watched the two of them rise and leave the table, the prince of Asgard closed his eyes and hoped for the best. Surely, him and Loki would be able to sneak into whatever place where Thrym kept the hammer later that night and leave immediately for Asgard.

Thrym led the charming maiden through a maze of corridors under the ice castle. His steps were controlled but powerful, following the same exact beat, one, two, one, two. There was something military in the way he carried himself, his shoulders straight, his head up. Jotuns warlords like him won half of their battles in a simple look, a certain way of holding themselves together in the heat of battles. There were numerous reasons why the giant had been one of the heroes of the war with Asgard, at least until he had rebelled against the authority of King Laufey. The sheer terror that he could unleash on his adversaries in the middle of battle was one of them.

For now, the aura of aggression and power he carried around himself was tame, only shyly bubbling on the surface. His next offensive against Laufey would need to wait until the end of the season of storms. He had the plans to march over the capital and take the crown by force all drawn out, and with the power of the hammer that Freyr had been amiable enough to provide him with, no doubt would the coward king surrender in a matter of days.

A smirk of victory drew itself on his lips. Soon enough, he'd have a Vanir princess on his side and the crown of Jotunheim on his head. Who could ever ask for more ?

"So, tell me, Lady Ikolni, from where exactly in Vanaheim do you come from ?" he asked gingerly. "I don't remember you telling me the name of your father and mother."

Loki smiled and stood carefully, following the giant calmly. Loki looked up at the Jotun quietly, and while he may look contemplative and in awe of the large Jotun in front of him, his mind was truly racing far from what the renegade Jotun could ever think. Loki's mind was already planning their escape, his magic lacing itself unnoticeably into the walls to lead him back when they came back. He wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, Thyrm did nothing but make him nervous. The man enjoyed speaking of his violent acts a all too much, and insulted his father far to much for his liking.

"Oh? 'Tis a small kingdom, far south of Queen Freyja's hall and so deep in the forest that we never see the snow of winter. We usually prefer to stay out of such diplomatic battles. Tis a very peaceful place. My father's name is Nyfordimar and my mother is Imakir." Loki lied easily, smiling softly. "My mother used to read to my sister and I, she told us of Jotunheim but I never knew it to be so beautiful." Loki brought his other hand slowly to rest on Thyrm's arm as they finally came to the room.

He watched with curious eyes as Thyrm opened the door, and he could see the hammer from here. It was glorious, artfully crafted with the finest metals, a decorative handle with fine symbols and details. There was a suspicious blue glow from the room, with a faint magical feel that made Loki nervous.

But Thyrm was waiting for him to enter, so he did, taking a couple steps in before suddenly he felt suddenly different.

His body had reverted to its natural form, and not the natural that his father had charmed him to be. His body was back to his natural-yet still feminine shape, but his skin was very much the royal blue he had been born with. His now red eyes went wide as he realized and he was immediately changing his staff back to its normal form, not turning to Thyrm, his heart hammering as he turned to attempt a strike on the the Jotun lord.

It took a moment for Thrym to realise what was actually happening. Too caught up in his own dreams of power and glorious battles, it's only a few seconds after he saw his beautiful future bride turn into a comically small Jotun that he realised that something was wrong. His reaction was otherwise quick. A fraction of second later, he was disarming the boy with a forceful move of the hand, gripping him by the throat and effortlessly lifting him from the ground. His face contorted in anger, he shook him like a rag doll, any pretense of civility gone for good.

"What is this sorcery? What have you done to the Lady Ikolni?" His voice roared, rage and incomprehension dripping from his pores. He didn't like when his plans faced that kind of reality-check. It's only as he inspected the intruder's face that he understood what had actually happened.

"Oh..." His lips formed a small, circular shape for a moment, before stretching themselves into a wide grin. With his free hand, he gripped the stranger's short, black hair, tilting sharply his head back, took a closer look at the lines that marked his face. Intricate designs indicated his belonging to a noble family, and not any kind of noble family. Thrym's anger turned into smug satisfaction. Surely this could be turned to his advantage. "A dwarf from the House of Laufey. You must be the prince Loki."

On these words, he let the boy loose, dropping him on the ground and kicking away his spear with a loud sound. Before the boy had even a chance to move, he placed his foot over his chest, ready to crack ribs.

"I know that your family never held honor very high in their deeds, but this is a first, really, a Jotun prince disguising as a coward of a father sold you as a whore to the Asgardians to buy peace. I wonder how you escaped, but surely Laufey managed to send you here to get the hammer and trade you back with Asgard. Let's see how the king likes it when I'll send him the dead body of his favorite son!"

Materializing an ice spear over his arm with his seidr, the giant peered over Loki, placing the tip of his weapon against his lithe pale blue throat. He let out a low chuckle.

"Or maybe should I keep you for something better, make you my thrall and make you serve me like a common whore when I'll sit on the throne of Jotunheim. How would you like that, Laufeyson?"

Oh gods, it was all over, this was it. The end of him. Just as he turned to attack Thyrm, his spear was knocked away and he was picked up by his neck, his hands scrambling against the large one, fighting to get that huge thumb off his throat to allow for air. His red eyes began to water, his head snapping back as his hair was pulled so roughly. His stomach dropped when he realized what Thyrm was doing. He was a Jotun, he would be able to read the lines on his face and tell exactly who he was, with out the smallest of doubt.

He gave a short cry as he was dropped, wind he didn't have was knocked from his lungs, hid body arching painfully at the sensation. He was going to die here, and he couldn't even help Thor. His mind stilled momentarily, noticing that it was how he truly felt. He was upset he was going to die, or be used as Thyrm's personal slave, but he was more upset that he wasn't able to help Thor, or get him out of here before it happened.

Well... That was a new revelation.

_I should have insisted he stayed, I shouldn't have let him come_. He thought as his breath began coming back to him, only to be forced out again by having Thyrm's huge foot brought down on his chest. Tears welled in his eyes as he felt his body beginning to collapse under the strain, dark black bruises emerging beneath the white of his dress. He bit his lip hard as the Jotun Lord continued to speak, not even recognizing the pain in his lip against the pain blossoming in the rest of his body, the only hint of pain coming when he tasted blood on his tongue.

"D-do what you will." He wheezed, his lip curling a little as he forced his eyes open against the pain. "M-my father will not lose his throne to the likes of you, and the minute they h-hear of my death, you will have As-Asgard and F-father blowing down your door." His nails scratched at the ice beneath his hands, begging his magic to work. He was not strong enough, these barriers were the combined magics of several mages, focused solely on intruders, it was crushing him as much as Thyrm was.

"Oh... Really ?"

Thrym lowered himself, placing his knee over Loki's chest, pressing just hard enough to keep him still. His free hand ended up around Loki's jaw, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Under the blue skin of his neck, he could see his pulse race, fast. He grinned, and his teeth glinted in the dim light.

"You really have no idea of what you are fighting against, do you ? I am Thrym of Jotunheim and I intend to take what I want, from you, from your father the false king and from Asgard. You know nothing of the potential power of Mjolnir, and of the countless wars I shall with with it."

His ice blade grazed the delicate skin of the prince's cheek, and dark red blood dripped slowly from the blue flesh, falling onto the frozen floor. With a quick move, the ice around his hand disappeared, and he traced the contour of the bruised flesh, his own large index finger turning into a rich burgundy color. He raised his hand back to his face, tasting the prince's blood on the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes, magic twirling on his palate as he tasted it. As he swallowed it down, his grin grew wider.

"Such a sweet taste. You must be a breeder. So that's why Laufey chose you. Tell me, has your Asgardian husband fucked you yet, made you heavy with half-breed children? I will take every single one of them and sacrifice them to the Mountain God, just as you should have been if Laufey hadn't chosen to dishonor our ancestors by keeping you. I will make you watch as they'll drown in the sacred waters. And then..."

He made a clicking sound with his tongue.

"I'll have a prince of Jotunheim as my wife and pretty little puppet."

Loki sucked in a deep breath when the majority of the pressure was removed from his chest, glaring up at the giant. That hand that wrapped itself around his face could have easily engulfed his whole head, his eyes squeezing shut as the bruise blossomed, staining his blue skin black as Thyrm spoke. A hiss escaped Loki's pale blue lips as the blade was dragged across his cheek, parting the skin easily as one would part the petals of a flower.

He listened to the taunts and the harsh words, refusing to react any more, trying to gather as much magic as he could. He may not be able to get to his staff to fight, but if he gathered enough energy, he could send out a distress signal strong enough to alert somebody, anybody.

He ignored the comments about him being a breeder, gritting his teeth as the giant continued to rant. He almost had enough energy, just a little more...

As Thyrm mentioned having him as a puppet, Loki's red eyes snapped open and he forced the signal out past the magic wards, searching for anyone who would help. The burst of magic did not go unnoticed by Thyrm, who brought his hand down across Loki's bruised and cut cheek, a firm smacking sound echoing in the room.

"You are a fool, just like your father, no one will find you here. You will be mine." Thyrm hissed, a slow chant stating, the words in the ancient language of the magi, strong sorcery laced in each word. Loki found that with each passing stanza, he cared less and less about what was going on. It was an old spell that bound the will of the slave to the will of the master, preventing any nasty riots, he realized in the back of his mind as his will to fight this began to fade.

Little did he know, his message had been received by three people. Two of which he never thought he would see again.

Thor had left the banquet not too long after Thrym had decided to show the hammer's emplacement to Loki, pretending some ladylike affliction with an half-convinced voice, retiring to the rooms they had been assigned to. The dress was ridiculously uncomfortable, and the castle felt way too cold. Thor gritted his teeth, tried to remember the taste of Asgard's mead and the touch of the sun against his face. How could have Loki lived his whole childhood in such an inhospitable place, a frozen wasteland populated by uncultured giants? The boy had shown himself to be the most agreeable companion and a skilled fighter, surely it wasn't solely due to his royal upbringing, was it?

As he opened the doors of the guest chamber, he felt a snap of electricity in his spine, and the sound of Loki screaming passed through his mind. An ominous feeling traversed him suddenly, and like on instinct, he closed the door back, sniffing the air as if to identify the source of the event. Had he dreamed? Had Loki truly been harmed in any way?

Thor had never been especially prudent. He followed his instinct, ran through the palace where his feet would take him, ending up in the heart of the ice citadel, corridors of ice under the ground.

Something in him broke as he kicked open another door and discovered his friend, his disguise gone and his face bruised, crushed under the large shape of the Jotun warlord Thrym. It broke hard.

The songs said that the Bersek was a gift of the gods, who had chosen the Aesir to guard the bridges between the worlds. Unskilled in magical matters, their magical essence could only be released in the heat of battle, in the form of violent, blind rage that could only be calmed with fire and blood. The trance made them half-beasts, thirsty for blood and destruction, deaf to whatever they had left of humanity in them. It was the Bersek that had, for a long time, made the military might of Asgard, fueling their conquests throughout the realms. It had won battles so terrible they forced the proud Vanir into a reluctant alliance with their ancient enemies.

Thor had never experienced the Bersek state firsthand, hearing only about it from soldiers of Father or the legends of his ancestors. In all honestly, he shouldn't have been able to transform, not before he had came of age, not without a weapon to canalize the magic that flowed freely from his pores. He felt like a spectator, hearing the fast beat of his pulse, the screams of anger that echoed in his skull. He watched with distracted eyes the action going on around him, his limbs animated by a force exterior to himself, not feeling any pain under the blows, attacking like a rabid wolf without order or logic.

When Thor finally came back to his true self, he felt the handle of Mjolnir, the hammer, the crusher, between his fingers, cold metal and rough leather flush against his palm. Thrym was dead under him, his head but a huge wound, and Loki had disappeared.


End file.
